


yours for sure

by notspring



Series: you're the place i can go [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Developing Friendships, Established Relationship, Estrangement and reconciliation, Family Issues, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/pseuds/notspring
Summary: “Does your family know about me?” Seungkwan asks curiously, feigning a casual demeanour as he pokes the straw around his smoothie. Hansol looks up, a startled expression on his face.“Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t they?”Something knots itself in Seungkwan’s stomach. Jealousy, or maybe guilt. He tries to swallow it back down.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Series: you're the place i can go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884562
Comments: 68
Kudos: 296





	yours for sure

_ day one _

Hansol was the first person Seungkwan met in Seoul. They only ever shared the one class, and later Seungkwan will joke that it was fate that brought them together. They happened to sit next to each other at the front of the room—Seungkwan because he was so nervous about his first day of class that he left his apartment thirty minutes early, a feat so difficult he has yet to manage a repeat performance, and Hansol because he shuffled into the lecture hall so late that all the seats in the back were taken.

The professor made them do introductions, and when he saw that everyone around them was already paired off, Hansol had turned to Seungkwan with a wry smile.

“Guess it’s you and me, then,” he’d said.

Seungkwan doesn’t remember much else, but he does remember thinking that Hansol was very handsome, and that his shirt was very ugly.

“Still true,” he likes to say when he tells the story of how they met. Hansol laughs every time, even though he can’t possibly still think it’s funny. 

That means something, Seungkwan knows, and even if they haven't said the words yet he thinks Hansol knows too.

_ day 85 _

“So, when are you going to take the love of your life to meet the parents?” Mingyu asks over coffee, completely casually, and the smile on Seungkwan’s face freezes immediately.

“Hmm?” he asks, feigning nonchalance. 

“Oh, I see,” Mingyu laughs, not taking even a single hint. Seungkwan feels the smile slide off his face completely. He huffs out an irritated sigh.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, shoving at Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu doesn’t budge even a little, because he’s enormous and horrible and he never misses arm day at the gym. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, annoyed. 

“What? I’m just asking!” Mingyu says, eyes wide, the picture of faux innocence. “You’re so serious about him, I figured you’d have done it already.”

“Well, I haven’t, and also it’s not your business,” Seungkwan says huffily. 

“Alright,” Mingyu says, dragging the word out. There’s a teasing smile on his face but his presence is still comforting, kindness shining through in the warmth of his expression. It makes Seungkwan, like. Emotionally vulnerable, or whatever, which is the only way to explain what comes out of his mouth next. 

“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Seungkwan admits, quietly, fiddling with a napkin. Mingyu’s face falls almost comically quickly, smile immediately fading into something sympathetic. 

“Oh my god, are they not supportive? I’m so sorry,” Mingyu rushes out, words almost incomprehensible in his hurry to reassure Seungkwan. He fumbles halfway out of his seat like he’s getting ready to spring into action, knocking a knee against a table leg in the process. It is, like many things about Mingyu, horribly clumsy, yet somehow charming nonetheless. 

Seungkwan winces at the sound, watching their drinks wobble precariously.

“You’re fine, oh my god, don’t hurt yourself,” Seungkwan says, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t make it a big deal.”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods, eyes wide, moving a lot more slowly as he settles back into his seat, his earlier teasing demeanour faded completely. 

“And _please_ don’t mention this to Hansol,” Seungkwan adds, urgency finding its way into his tone. It feels a little shitty once he’s said it out loud, but he’s too eager to escape the conversation topic to really let himself worry much.

“Okay,” Mingyu repeats, nodding even more fervently. “Got it.”

It’s definitely kind of shitty to ask Mingyu to keep a secret like this for him. But it’s not _really_ a secret—more like a hidden room. A whole house, maybe, back in Jeju. Somewhere Seungkwan doesn’t want to go. Somewhere Seungkwan isn’t sure he _can_ go anymore.

It’s so much easier not to bring it up.

_ day 91 _

“Does your family know about me?” Seungkwan asks curiously, feigning a casual demeanour as he pokes the straw around his smoothie. Hansol looks up, a startled expression on his face.

“Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Something knots itself in Seungkwan’s stomach. Jealousy, or maybe guilt. He tries to swallow it back down. 

“I just didn’t know if you were, like…” he trails off, unsure of how to say it. “You know. Out.”

“Oh,” Hansol says. “Yeah, they know everything.”

Seungkwan blinks at him. 

“Wow,” he says, taken aback. 

“I’m guessing yours don’t?” Hansol asks, but he doesn’t seem angry. Worse: he just looks sympathetic. Seungkwan looks away, and then down. He will _not_ be caught crying at his favourite overpriced juice café. Not today.

“Yeah, um,” he stutters a little, trying to seem natural. “They’re just really conservative, so…” 

He trails off, letting Hansol fill in the blanks, hoping it seems like he can’t say it because it’s too difficult, and not because it isn’t true. 

“Oh shit,” Hansol says. “I guess I didn’t even think of that. I’m so sorry, man. That must suck.”

Seungkwan nods, tight-lipped, and tries not to feel too guilty.

He’s never told his sisters directly about himself, true, but they witnessed adolescent Seungkwan diligently learning every single Wonder Girls dance until he could perform them with 100% accuracy at family noraebang outings, so. Some truths don’t need to be acknowledged out loud, he’s pretty sure. 

They never even made fun of him for it, he realizes now. Never made snide comments about his fussiness or his mannerisms or any of the parts of himself he tries to tone down as an adult. Seulhae even tried to learn the dances with him, at first, until he got too snippy at her for not taking it seriously enough. 

Seungkwan misses them horribly. Not as they are now, hollowed out versions of themselves, scattered across the country and limping through adulthood as best they can. But who they were as children, full of love and energy and hope for the future—Seungkwan misses that so badly his chest aches with it, an emptiness he’s not sure he’ll ever fill up. 

“It does suck,” he whispers, then clears his throat, shaking his head like that’ll keep his eyes dry. “But I was actually really looking forward to enjoying this smoothie, so…”

Hansol laughs, nodding his head.

“Point taken,” he says easily. “Don’t wanna wreck your smoothie vibe.”

It’s so early, but Seungkwan thinks he really might be in love.

_ day 103 _

“You’re sure it’s okay if I stay over?” Seungkwan asks, fidgeting a little where he’s standing at the edge of the couch. Hansol looks over at him from the kitchen and smiles, cheeks a little flushed.

“Of course,” he says. “Chan’s not coming home tonight, it’ll just be us.”

“Ugh,” Seungkwan says immediately. “Chan.”

“Not this again,” Hansol says, coming into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. Seungkwan sits down next to him, positioning himself a lot more carefully. 

“What?” Seungkwan asks, taking the remote when Hansol hands it to him. He’s pretty sure they’re just in time for Battle Trip. 

“I just don’t get why you hate him so much,” Hansol says, but he’s laughing a little. “He’s like, the least offensive person I know.”

“Ugh, no,” Seungkwan says, scrolling rapidly through channels to find—ah, yes. He was right. Battle Trip it is. “I hate guys like him.”

“What does that even mean?” Hansol asks, still looking amused. “Guys like what?”

“He just seems so, like. Judgmental?” Seungkwan says. Hansol’s just full-on staring at him now, TV forgotten in the background. He looks extremely skeptical. 

“Babe,” he says. “I respect your feelings so much, but what the fuck.”

“I don’t know! It’s his vibe!”

“That’s the complete opposite of his vibe,” Hansol says. “Whatever you think he’s judging you about, I can promise you he does not care.”

“He cared when I was watching Produce 101 in the living room that one time,” Seungkwan points out, trying not to sound whiny and almost definitely failing. 

“You’re still upset about that?” Hansol asks, sounding incredulous. 

“How could I not be?” Seungkwan sniffs. “He insulted my entire taste in music.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Hansol insists. “Chan’s weird about idols, that’s all.”

“Well, it felt personal! You know liking girl groups is at _least_ 60 percent of my personality.”

“If it makes you that upset, I can talk to him?” Hansol offers.

“What? No!” Seungkwan shifts his position on the couch so he can stare at Hansol more dramatically. “Why would you do that?”

“Uh, so you won’t have weird beef with my roommate for no reason?” Hansol says slowly, like it’s obvious. 

Seungkwan sniffs. He knows Hansol’s smart, but honestly. He really does make the dumbest suggestions sometimes.

“It’s fine,” he says. “It’s whatever! I barely even care about it.”

It is and isn’t a lie—Chan does annoy him, kind of, but the two of them aren’t close enough for it to matter. Chan’s almost never home, and any time he walks into the living area when Seungkwan’s there, he just kind of nods respectfully before he goes about his business and leaves Seungkwan and Hansol to theirs. 

Objectively, Seungkwan’s irritation towards Chan is unreasonable. He knows it’s unreasonable.

“God, sorry, this is so dramatic,” Seungkwan apologizes. “It feels like high school, doesn’t it?”

Hansol shrugs.

“I didn’t go to high school,” he says. Seungkwan stares at him, completely thrown. 

“Then how are you…” he trails off awkwardly, not sure how to finish the sentence. _How are you here?_ seems a little rude, but he doesn’t know where else to take it. 

Luckily, Hansol seems as unaffected by Seungkwan’s sudden shocking lack of social graces as he is by everything else, and he just laughs quietly. 

“How am I in university?” he finishes, putting Seungkwan out of his misery. Seungkwan nods gratefully, huffing a little at himself.

Hansol looks like he finds that funny, too. 

“Homeschool, man,” he says around another chuckle. 

Seungkwan nods as though he understands completely. 

“Ah,” he says delicately. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Hansol laughs awkwardly, clearly interpreting Seungkwan’s awkwardness as judgment. “It’s a little weird.”

“No, it’s not weird!” Seungkwan protests, waving his hands. “High school sucked, honestly, it’s not like you missed very much.”

Hansol squints.

“Really?” he asks, looking skeptical. “You seem like the kind of person who liked high school.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seungkwan laughs awkwardly, even though he’s pretty sure he knows.

“I don’t know, you’re so…” Hansol actually looks a little flustered, which is fascinating. “…social,” he settles on. “Like, the kind of person who did clubs and shit.”

For most of his adolescence Seungkwan _was_ the kind of person who did ‘clubs and shit,’ so he can’t fault Hansol for his mistake. 

“I mean, I guess,” he hedges, not wanting to go into any detail. “But honestly I don’t even remember most of high school, so.”

Hansol blinks, letting that sink in, and Seungkwan realizes how it sounds.

“Not because I was doing anything weird!” he rushes to clarify. “I was just, like. In a bad place? Emotionally, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Hansol says. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Seungkwan says, steamrolling over whatever Hansol was getting ready to say next. He doesn’t think he’s emotionally capable of handling it right now, or maybe ever. “Please don’t say anything,” he says, quieter. 

Hansol pauses, then nods.

“Well, it seems like you’re doing better now,” he says, finally.

“I am,” Seungkwan says, nodding emphatically. “I’m doing great.”

That’s a slight exaggeration, maybe, but when he compares himself now to how he’d been doing his final year of high school—mother gone and father absent, abandoned by his sisters and too sad for his friends—maybe not. 

“That’s great,” Hansol says, still nodding.

“So how was home-schooling?” Seungkwan asks a little too loudly, desperate to change the subject.

“I mean, it sucked, but my grandma really wanted me to finish school,” Hansol says. “She figured out how to do the online thing and everything, it was pretty impressive.”

Seungkwan laughs at the image, charmed. 

“Your grandma sounds great,” he says.

“Oh, she’s terrifying, dude,” Hansol says, eyes wide. Seungkwan laughs even harder.

“That’s even better,” he says, and then the next part just slips out, without him meaning to say it: “I want to meet her.”

He freezes as soon as he’s said it, watching Hansol carefully for a reaction, but Hansol just nods earnestly. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, smiling warmly. Seungkwan smiles back, and tries to ignore the panicked fluttering of his heart. 

They’ve missed the entire first segment of the show—he’s going to have to watch the episode online.

_ day 109 _

“What about this one?” Hansol asks, tilting his laptop screen so Seungkwan can read it. Seungkwan scans the job posting quickly, a brief flick of his gaze, before nodding and turning back to his own screen. 

“That looks good,” he says, encouraging but a little vague, still trying to figure out the wording for his project proposal. 

“I need a reference, though,” Hansol says, slumping down in his seat. “They’re not gonna just accept some random guy’s application.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Seungkwan says brightly, finally giving Hansol his full attention. “Just use Jeonghan!”

“Jeonghan? Your creepy friend? I think I’m good,” Hansol says warily.

“Okay, first of all, please don’t call Jeonghan my friend,” Seungkwan says, shuddering at the thought. “ _But_ he literally does this for a living, so you should totally get his help.”

“Does what for a living?” Hansol asks, still looking deeply skeptical.

“Helps people bullshit their resumés,” Seungkwan explains. “People will pay kind of a lot for it, and it really plays to his strengths, you know?”

“What are his strengths?” Hansol asks slowly, an expression on his face that makes it clear he’s not going to like Seungkwan’s answer.

“Lying, and having great phone voice,” Seungkwan answers promptly. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Yeah, he started doing it for people he knew to get extra cash, but then it started spreading around and now it’s like… actually lucrative,” Seungkwan continues. “I don’t know what he’s going to do when he graduates and needs to find a real job.”

“What the fuck,” Hansol says again, this time with feeling. 

“He keeps all these spreadsheets so he can keep track of everyone, it’s wild.”

“I can’t believe you willingly hang out with a person who needs multiple spreadsheets to keep track of his lies, but okay,” Hansol says slowly.

“Oh, I don’t hang out with Jeonghan willingly,” Seungkwan interjects quickly, before Hansol can get the wrong idea. 

Hansol’s brow furrows.

“So all those times you get coffee together, those are… what? Hostage situations?”

“Close enough,” Seungkwan says darkly, and doesn’t elaborate any further. Hansol’s face goes totally blank, his default response when he doesn’t know how to react. 

Seungkwan huffs impatiently. “Look, do you want the internship or not?”

“I want it,” Hansol confirms.

“Then give me your phone and I’ll message Jeonghan for you,” Seungkwan says, holding out his hand. Hansol laughs on an exhale, like he can’t believe what he’s doing, but he hands his phone over dutifully enough.

“Okay,” Seungkwan says, not looking up as he types out a message punctuated by exclamation points and several violent emojis, his thumbs making dull tapping noises as they connect with the phone screen. “Do _not_ let him charge you for this, he owes me a favour.”

“Okay,” Hansol says, taking the phone back. His eyebrows raise when he reads the message Seungkwan sent, but he doesn’t say anything more. 

“I am so serious right now,” Seungkwan says. “Don’t show weakness. He’s like a shark, he can smell it on you.”

“Okay!” Hansol laughs. “I won’t, I swear.”

Seungkwan doesn’t believe him at all, but it’s cute that Hansol thinks he can do it. Seungkwan hesitates a moment, debating whether to push it further. He doesn’t want to seem like he doesn’t trust Hansol to handle his own life, it’s just that, well.

Seungkwan doesn’t trust Hansol to handle his own life, apparently.

“Do you need me to come with you? Because I totally can,” he bursts out, voice too loud, completely unable to stop himself, as though he’s been possessed by the spirit of a nagging mother-in-law. 

Hansol doesn’t seem offended, or even really surprised. He just laughs, one eyebrow raised.

“I think I can handle it,” he says. “If Jeonghan tries to do anything terrible, I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, he will,” Seungkwan says darkly, but he forces himself to take Hansol at his word.

_ day 127 _

Hansol’s phone keeps disturbing the silence, vibrating with a new message as soon as he’s sent off his reply. He grimaces apologetically when Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, fiddling with it until it’s on silent.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s my sister, she won’t stop sending me stupid memes.”

Seungkwan smiles, endeared.

“It’s okay,” he says. “My sisters used to annoy me like that, too.”

Hansol puts the phone face-down on the table and looks up at Seungkwan, eyebrows knit together. 

“You have sisters?” he asks. Seungkwan stills, smile freezing on his face. 

“You knew that,” Seungkwan says, sure it’s the truth. There’s no way he’s never mentioned them before, right? He thinks about them all the time. Surely he’s said something before now; he’s known Hansol for months. 

“I didn’t,” Hansol says. Seungkwan frowns, unsettled. “How many?”

“Two,” Seungkwan says. “Older.”

“Are you guys close?” Hansol asks. Seungkwan pauses, unsure how to answer.

Are they close? 

“Not as much now,” he says, finally. “We were closer when we were younger.”

“Ah,” Hansol says, nodding, even though he can’t possibly understand—Seungkwan barely told him anything. “Do they still live in Jeju?”

“No,” Seungkwan says. “Seunghee works as a flight attendant, and Seulhae got married. She lives in Daegu now.”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool.” 

Hansol sounds really earnest about it, too, like he really thinks running away at 21 to get married in _Daegu_ is anything other than sad and a little strange. 

“I guess,” Seungkwan says, wrinkling his nose. “We don’t really talk much, though.”

“That’s a bummer,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan bristles at the words. 

“It’s just because we’re so far away,” he says, voice brittle and defensive. “Our lives are really different now. It’s hard to know what to say.”

Seungkwan is not, generally speaking, a person who runs out of things to say. Hansol knows this—he’s the one Seungkwan’s things are most frequently said to, after all—but if he can tell Seungkwan is full of shit, it doesn’t show at all on his face. 

“Totally,” he says, eyes wide with sympathy.

If their positions were reversed, Seungkwan knows, the curiosity would be unbearable, but Hansol doesn't push.

“Are you doing anything with your family over summer break? We should do something nice while we have time off,” Seungkwan says on the bus ride home, holding up his fan to try to get a better angle for his neck. It doesn’t really make a difference, the heat outside so oppressive that any relief is short-lived. 

“You’re not going home?” Hansol asks, turning so he can look at Seungkwan properly. Seungkwan shrugs, as casual as he can manage. 

“Flights to Jeju are expensive this time of year,” he says, voice light. “Tourist season, you know how it is.”

“You said you weren’t going to go for Chuseok either,” Hansol points out. It’s pretty uncharacteristic of him, actually—he’s usually so chill, willing to drop a topic as soon as anyone seems the slightest bit uncomfortable. Seungkwan wishes he hadn’t chosen this particular moment to start going off-script. 

“Have you tried getting a flight _anywhere_ for Chuseok?” Seungkwan counters. Helpfully, it’s actually true—getting a flight around Chuseok is a nightmare, no matter where you’re going. 

Hansol just looks at him for a long, unpleasant moment. Seungkwan does his best to hold his gaze, but there’s no hiding the flush crawling down the back of his neck. He shifts the angle of his fan, like the pathetic attempt at a breeze will do anything to calm him down. 

“If you don't want to talk about something, it’s okay,” Hansol says, finally. “Just tell me to back off.”

“ _Please_ back off,” Seungkwan bursts out, too uncomfortable to try and play it even the slightest bit cool.

“Wow, you were really hanging on by a thread there,” Hansol laughs.

“Why are you like this?” Seungkwan whines. Hansol laughs again, but he lets Seungkwan change the topic easily enough, listening to him complain about the guy in his media relations class as though there’s nothing he’d rather do.

“You can always come to my house whenever, you know,” Hansol says, much later, when they’re back at his apartment; dinner’s finished and all that’s left is packing up the leftovers to put in his fridge. “My parents are super chill, they won’t care.”

Seungkwan freezes where he’d been struggling with the recycling, head jerking up so he can see Hansol’s face. 

“You mean that?” he asks, slightly overwhelmed, hands juggling a frankly obscene number of empty takeout containers.

“Duh,” Hansol says, closing the fridge. “They’d love to meet you.”

Seungkwan’s heart is doing something very strange in his chest. One of the container lids slides to the floor, but he doesn’t make any moves to pick it up.

“I feel like it would be awkward, though?”

“Is that a question, or is that how you feel?” Hansol asks, smiling. Seungkwan scowls at him. 

“Don’t be mean,” he whines. “I’m emotionally vulnerable right now!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hansol laughs. Seungkwan finishes shoving the containers into their recycling bag, then stoops to pick up the lid that’s still on the floor. 

“Will I get to meet your cool grandma?” he asks, finally, slipping the lid in with the rest of the recycling and tying the bag off with a neat knot. 

“Yeah, dude,” Hansol says. 

“Yeah?” Seungkwan smiles, finally working up the courage to look Hansol in the eye. There’s nothing there but warmth. 

“Yeah,” Hansol nods. “She’s always around. Her health is kinda bad, so she’s been living with us since I was younger.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan says. His heartbeat starts to speed up, fluttering like a panicked bird. “Is she okay, though? Like, for now?”

“What? Yeah, she’s good,” Hansol says, bemused. “She’ll outlive us all, probably.”

“You don’t know that,” Seungkwan blurts out before he can stop himself, a little too intense for the mood of the conversation. “You should be more careful.”

There’s a very distinct pause, just long enough for Seungkwan to start thinking of something to say to cover it up, and then Hansol just nods seriously.

“Alright,” he says. Seungkwan gets the distinct feeling that he’s being managed, which is irritating, but also kind of nice. It’s nice that Hansol cares enough to handle him carefully, even if Seungkwan would never admit that out loud. 

“Make sure she’s taking her vitamins, okay?” he says, like a total nag. Hansol laughs, but it doesn’t feel mean. His eyes are very soft.

“I will,” he says, still smiling. “I’ll tell her which ones you buy.”

Seungkwan’s heart feels like it’s too large for his chest. _Tell him_ , he thinks. _Tell him now_.

He smiles back instead, a guilty lump forming in the back of his throat.

_ day 129 _

“Is it okay if I don’t want to talk to my boyfriend about my family?” Seungkwan asks, deeply uncomfortable bringing the subject up but too anxious to keep to himself any longer.

“Probably not,” Jeonghan says, eyebrows raised. “Why? Are you hiding something terrible?”

He sits up straighter and wiggles a little in his seat as he says it, visibly excited at the prospect. Seungkwan rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, you’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” he says. 

Jeonghan doesn’t even bother to pretend to be offended, just lets out a delighted cackle. He sounds demented—the women two tables over turn their heads to stare at him in unison, visibly unnerved. Seungkwan smiles placatingly at them until they turn back around, and then immediately drops the pleasant façade so he can glare at Jeonghan properly. 

“And secondly, it’s not anything _terrible_ , I just don’t want to talk about it? I don’t think that’s bad, right?” Seungkwan says, aware that turning his statements into pleading questions isn’t actually helping his case. 

“Well, if you feel guilty about it, it’s probably bad,” Jeonghan says, blunt as ever.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Seungkwan whines as dramatically as he can, dropping his head down onto the table for good measure.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jeonghan says, completely without remorse. “If you wanted someone to be nice to you, you should have asked Mingyu.”

“Mingyu’s never nice to me,” Seungkwan says, muffled by the placemat. 

“He absolutely is,” Jeonghan counters, voice mild.

“Ugh,” Seungkwan groans, for lack of a better response. He doesn’t want to think about his family anymore, except now he feels so guilty about it that he doesn’t see any way to make it stop—it comes up every time he thinks about his relationship with Hansol, which is all the time because he’s in love with him, or whatever. 

“Look,” Jeonghan says, matter-of-fact. “If you don’t want to bring it up, that’s fine. But if it comes up, you need to either talk to him about it or tell him that you don’t want to talk to him about it. If he loves you, he’ll respect your boundaries, but you need to set them first.”

“What the fuck? That’s so hard,” Seungkwan says petulantly.

“So is being in a relationship,” Jeonghan says lightly, not a trace of pity in his voice. “And if you don’t want the relationship to end, you need to do the work.”

That is… revoltingly mature. Seungkwan groans, forcing himself back upright.

“I don’t want the relationship to end,” he admits, doing his best to brush his hair back into place without a mirror. “I’ll never meet anyone as good as Hansol again, I’d be stupid to let him go.”

“Sappy,” Jeonghan comments.

“Shut up! I’m serious!” Seungkwan protests. “Whenever I ask him what he wants for dinner, he just says ‘I dunno, you pick,’ and he _actually means it_. Do you know how rare that is? He literally _does not care_. He’ll eat whatever! I didn’t know people like that really existed! I can never let him get away!”

“Well, then, there you go,” Jeonghan says, looking amused.

“God, I can’t believe I’m getting advice from a person whose longest relationship lasted 17 hours,” Seungkwan mutters, mostly so he won’t have to admit that Jeonghan’s right. “This is so embarrassing.”

“ _You_ called _me_ ,” Jeonghan says mildly, not sounding offended in the least.

“You’re so terrible,” Seungkwan says. 

“My iron levels are low,” Jeonghan says, as though that explains literally anything.

“Then go eat a hamburger or something, jesus,” Seungkwan says. “I’ll order it myself, if that’s what it takes to make you a better person.”

“No thank you,” Jeonghan says lightly, like he thinks Seungkwan’s offer was legitimate.

“Why am I even friends with you?” Seungkwan asks. 

It’s mainly for dramatic effect, but also he literally cannot remember ever deciding to become Jeonghan’s friend. Yet here they are, getting coffee together, Jeonghan having conned Seungkwan into paying for his drink even though he definitely still owes Seungkwan from the last time. 

“Mingyu is the glue that holds us together,” Jeonghan says airily.

“That’s definitely not it,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Mingyu doesn’t even like you.”

“Don’t be hateful,” Jeonghan says.

“It’s not hateful if it’s true,” Seungkwan says, very slowly, as though he’s speaking to a child.

“Mingyu loves me,” Jeonghan says dismissively, which is so patently false that Seungkwan can’t hold back his incredulous snort of laughter. 

“Mingyu literally avoids social functions if he thinks there won’t be enough of a buffer between you guys, but go off I guess,” Seungkwan says with an eyeroll. 

“You’re really not being very kind right now,” Jeonghan says in a sing-song voice, which like. No shit. Seungkwan is never kind to Jeonghan. Jeonghan is never kind to Seungkwan, either, unless he just did something terrible and he’s trying to cover it up.

“Wait, does this actually bother you?” Seungkwan asks, suddenly suspicious, squinting to get a better look at Jeonghan’s face. 

“Of course not,” Jeonghan says loftily, like he couldn’t care less, but Seungkwan isn’t so sure. 

“He’d hate you less if you stopped grabbing his ass as a joke,” he says. “Also if you stopped lying all the time, but we both know that’s not something you’re capable of.”

Jeonghan scowls, caught, and Seungkwan lets out a triumphant yell. 

“It _does_ bother you! I knew it!” he shrieks, jabbing his finger in Jeonghan’s face. Jeonghan’s face twists even further, before smoothing back out abruptly as he swats Seungkwan’s finger away. 

“Mingyu loves me,” he says, voice only a little ominous. “I’ll prove it.”

“No one asked, but sure,” Seungkwan says, outwardly nonchalant but privately a little concerned. Jeonghan’s weirdly tenacious about the dumbest shit, and also a literal monster.

 _Poor Mingyu_ , Seungkwan thinks, but then Jeonghan asks him about the terrible girl in his seminar class, and Seungkwan gets so worked up complaining about her that he forgets all about the whole exchange.

_ day 171 _

“You never get bored with Hansol?” Eunmi asks, somewhere between the first shot and the second.

Seungkwan bristles a little, automatically defensive.

“Why would I get bored?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Eunmi says, shrugging a little, already tipsy enough that the gesture is loose, easy. “You guys are just so domestic already. Like, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong! It’s _so_ cute. But you met him, like, your first day in Seoul. And you’re so young.”

 _Exactly_ , Seungkwan wants to say. He met Hansol on his first day—of class, not in Seoul, but that feels like splitting hairs—so Hansol is the one who knows him the best. Sometimes, when Seungkwan feels particularly morose, he thinks Hansol is the only person who knows him at all anymore. Maybe that should be worrisome, but really it only ever makes him feel safe.

From what Seungkwan’s heard, Eunmi’s relationships are nothing like that—they’re always tempestuous, intense. Seungkwan doesn’t feel that sense of urgency with Hansol, and it isn’t something he wants, either. But it feels embarrassing, even childish to admit that out loud—he doesn’t think Eunmi wants to hear words like _safe_ and _comfortable_ in regards to his love life.

He shoves them down and shrugs instead.

“Hansol’s who I want,” he says, simply.

Next to Eunmi, Yeyoung coos loudly.

“That’s so cute!” she says, clearly already drunker than anyone else at the table. “You guys are so cute! You share everything with each other, right? I think that’s adorable.”

Seungkwan swallows around a sudden lump in his throat and nods, smiling.

“We do,” he says, and feels the guilt in his stomach grow even heavier.

He lets his phone sit untouched in his pocket as he and his groupmates work their way through an unreasonable amount of soju for a Wednesday night, and it’s nearing two in the morning by the time he fumbles with the door to Hansol’s apartment, cursing quietly as it beeps mercilessly at him instead of letting him in.

The door swings open when Seungkwan’s on his third attempt, the sudden movement destabilizing him completely and sending him stumbling forwards into the person on the other side.

“Oof,” Seungkwan grunts, pushing against Hansol’s shoulders to try to gain his balance, not really succeeding. Everything feels kind of… swimmy. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“That’s okay,” says a voice that _definitely_ does not belong to Hansol. It’s softer, not as deep. Seungkwan blinks, dazed, and lets unfamiliar hands steady him until he’s upright and staring at… 

Chan.

“Oh god,” Seungkwan says faintly. “I thought you were Hansol.”

Chan laughs.

“I figured,” he says, seeming awfully at ease for someone who just intercepted a home invasion at two in the morning. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Seungkwan moans, perhaps a bit dramatically. “Everything’s terrible. I spilled soju on my favourite pants.”

Chan frowns.

“Well, hyung’s not home,” he says, reaching behind Seungkwan to push the door closed. “Do you need me to help you with something?”

Seungkwan whines dramatically, slumping over to lean on against the wall of the apartment’s entryway. Chan’s hand flutters awkwardly by Seungkwan’s back for a moment like he wants to comfort him, but he pulls it back instead.

“I can get you some water?” Chan ask hesitantly, nudging the pair of slippers Seungkwan always uses over with his feet. 

Seungkwan huffs impatiently as he steps out of his shoes and almost loses his balance in the process. Chan doesn’t hesitate this time, slipping his shoulder under Seungkwan’s arm to keep him upright. 

“I think,” Seungkwan says seriously, leaning against Chan’s solid form, “that some water would be a great idea.”

Chan leads Seungkwan into the living room and deposits him onto the couch, returning moments later with a cup of water and an awkward smile. 

“Do you want me to call hyung?” he asks. “I think he’s working late on a project, but he’ll come if you need him.”

That’s a very sweet thing for Chan to say, Seungkwan thinks muzzily. How would he even know that? He barely knows Seungkwan at all. 

_And whose fault is that?_ asks the nasty voice in Seungkwan’s brain—the same voice chastising him for lying to Hansol, and for not checking his phone, and for drinking so late on a Wednesday instead of studying.

“Why are you being so nice?” Seungkwan asks, finishing the water and setting the empty cup on the living room table. He slumps over onto the side of the couch, woozy enough that the effort of sitting upright for so long exhausted him. “No, don’t answer that.”

“Okay,” Chan says. “Well. Maybe I can just help you to hyung’s room, if you want?”

Chan’s voice is sweeter than Seungkwan realized—he sounds very young. Seungkwan’s only really interacted with him in the tiniest moments, brushing past each other in the kitchen. That one time in the living room, when Chan had complained to Hansol because Seungkwan was watching an idol survival show on the TV. 

Seungkwan’s hated him all this time for that one disparaging comment, and for way Chan rushes through the apartment with his protein shakes and his gym bag, looking just like all the guys who gave Seungkwan nightmares in high school. 

That was pretty shitty of him, he realizes with sickening, semi-drunken clarity as Chan peers closer to check on him, face totally empty of malice. 

“That would be nice, thank you,” Seungkwan says, finally, voice as formal as he can make it while he’s still kind of slurring his words, and he lets Chan help him up. 

True to form, he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut as they make their stumbling way down the hall towards Hansol’s room.

“I’m so sorry for hating you,” he says, as seriously as he can manage, as Chan fumbles with Hansol’s door. 

“Um,” Chan says. “Okay.”

“I’m such a bad person, honestly,” Seungkwan continues, letting Chan maneuver him into the room, dumping him at the edge of the bed. 

“I’m sure you’re not,” Chan says, pushing him sideways until he lies down.

“No, I totally am,” Seungkwan assures him. “I’m the biggest bitch.”

“That doesn’t seem true,” Chan says, which is hysterical coming from him, of all people. 

“God, you’re not real,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’m real,” Chan says, laughing a little. He switches on a lamp. 

“Maybe I’m not, then,” Seungkwan says, which is admittedly a little dramatic even for him, but he always gets morbid when he drinks peach soju. He knows this about himself, but he let Eunmi pour it anyway. 

“You’re real, too,” Chan says nervously. 

“If I don’t tell somebody something, is that a lie?” Seungkwan asks, changing the subject completely as he rolls over onto his back. He ignores Chan’s attempts to tug the blanket over him—this is way more important. “It’s not, right?”

Chan stills, looking over at him. 

“What kind of something?” he asks, looking uncomfortable. 

“Just, like, a personal thing,” Seungkwan says. “It’s nobody else’s business, right?”

Chan nods slowly.

“That sounds right,” he says.

“Thank god,” Seungkwan says, accepting the comfort of Chan’s words without question, even though the guilty weight hasn’t actually lessened any. “Jeonghan said I should tell him, but I don’t want to.”

“Tell who what? I don’t understand.”

Seungkwan rolls over instead of answering, pushing his face into the pillow.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Chan says, coming over and tugging at his shoulder until he rolls onto his side. “If you throw up you’ll choke.”

“You’re very sweet,” Seungkwan says. “I didn’t realize you were so sweet.”

“Thanks?” Chan’s voice comes out like a question. “I think I’m going to text Hansol-hyung now.”

“Don’t tell him I said anything weird,” Seungkwan begs. “I don’t want to have to tell him.”

“It’s okay,” Chan says. “I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan sighs. “You’re really so sweet, Lee Chan. So sweet.”

“Thank you, Seungkwan-ssi,” Chan says politely. It makes Seungkwan feel even sloppier, somehow, as though drunkenly drooling onto Hansol’s pillow wasn’t enough on its own. “I’m going to leave now. Do you want the light on?”

“No,” Seungkwan says. “I need to be in the dark now, I think.”

“Okay,” Chan says, switching the lamp back off so the only light in the room comes from the open door. He hesitates, though, instead of leaving like he said he would. “Seungkwan-ssi?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know if you’ll remember this, but sometimes there are things that are too hard to talk about,” Chan says, sounding very sure of himself. “And I think that if hyung loves you, he’ll understand.”

“That’s nice,” Seungkwan mutters, already halfway to a doze.

He wakes up the next morning with a headache, a crushing feeling of embarrassment, and a fresh zit forming on his cheek, all of which he complains about at length to Hansol, who apparently materialized in the apartment sometime in the early hours of the morning. 

“At least you didn’t throw up,” Hansol says, handing Seungkwan a mug of coffee. Seungkwan moans louder, banging his head against the refrigerator door for emphasis. He doesn’t even _like_ hot coffee.

“Throwing up would have been _better_ ,” he whines. “I _verbally_ threw up. I told Chan I hated him! What is wrong with me!”

“I mean, to be fair, it couldn’t have come as a surprise to him,” Hansol says evenly, taking a sip from his own mug.

“ _Not helpful_ ,” Seungkwan hisses. Hansol puts his free hand up in silent apology.

“Really, though, it’s probably fine,” Hansol says, after a moment of silent contemplation. “Chan doesn’t get offended easily.”

“Can’t relate,” Seungkwan says, head still resting against the refrigerator.

“Come with me to the gym,” Hansol says, setting his mug in the sink. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“Sure, whatever,” Seungkwan says, flapping his hand dismissively. Hansol is absolutely full of shit—the gym definitely won’t make Seungkwan feel better, but at least it’ll be a different form of misery. 

“How can I apologize to Chan?” Seungkwan asks once he’s huffing along next to Hansol on the treadmill. “Do I need to, like, go to Paris Baguette or something?”

“I dunno,” Hansol says. He barely even sounds out of breath. Despicable. “Just apologize and be nicer to him, that’s probably enough.”

“ _No,_ it’s not enough,” Seungkwan says. “I have to _do something_.”

“Alright, I guess,” Hansol says, still looking skeptical. He doesn’t offer any actual advice, either. Useless. 

“What is he studying? I feel like I don’t know anything about him,” Seungkwan says, now fully committed to his decision to be less of an asshole.

“Studying?” Hansol pants, looking confused. “He’s not in school, dude.”

“We’ve discussed this, please don’t call me ‘dude,’” Seungkwan says, unable to stop himself, before refocusing on the topic at hand. “I thought Chan was younger than you?”

“Yeah,” Hansol says, and then offers absolutely nothing else. 

Seungkwan gives up and slaps at the controls on the treadmill, slowing himself down to a walk before he turns to Hansol and gestures at him to continue, eyebrows raised. 

“And…?” Seungkwan prompts, when Hansol doesn’t take the hint. 

“Oh,” Hansol says, like he hadn’t realized what Seungkwan was asking. Honestly, he probably hadn’t. Hansol is the most uncurious person Seungkwan knows, which is delightful and endearing until Seungkwan actually wants to know something, at which point it takes a sharp left towards infuriating. “He works at a dance studio, like classes and choreography and stuff. They have a Youtube channel and everything.”

Well.

 _That_ certainly wasn’t what Seungkwan was expecting. Is it possible that Chan is actually… cool? 

“Yah, Chwe Hansol! What is wrong with you? You never thought to tell me this before?” Seungkwan huffs in exasperation, reaching to grab his phone from the cupholder. “Honestly, you’re impossible. What’s the name of his channel?”

Hansol doesn’t stop laughing. He doesn’t stop running, either, which is a disgusting display of physical fitness that Seungkwan absolutely does not appreciate in the slightest. 

“I didn’t tell you because, as we were literally just saying, you hated him,” he points out, and Seungkwan pouts in response—it’s true, sure, but Hansol doesn’t have to just _say it_ like that. “Here, I’ll look it up for you,” Hansol says, finally slapping at the console of his treadmill to slow to a walk and holding his hand out for the phone.

Seungkwan hands it over, trying not to get distracted by the flex of Hansol’s forearm and failing pretty miserably. 

“Oh wow,” he says, when Hansol hands the phone back. He watches Chan dance for a long moment, tiny on his phone screen. “That is… not what I expected.”

“He’s good, right?” Hansol says, smiling.

Seungkwan smiles, feeling a strange mix of unearned pride and inexplicable loss. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, still watching Chan in the practice room. Seungkwan stares hard at the screen, missing something he never even had. “He’s amazing.”

_ day 190 _

Hansol’s family home is nice.

His family is quieter than Seungkwan’s was, growing up—there’s no joyful shouting, no loud teasing arguments, no one belting trot tunes from the kitchen. But it’s obvious, still, how much they love each other. 

Seungkwan can see it in the way Hansol’s mom hugs him tightly as soon as he walks in the door, framing his face in her hands like she wants to memorize it. Like it’s been ages since she last saw him, when Seungkwan knows for a fact that Hansol visits every other weekend. 

She turns to Seungkwan as soon as she’s done with Hansol, arms wide open even though this is the first time they’ve met, and Seungkwan’s heart does something floppy and strange.

Hansol’s mom’s arms don’t feel like Seungkwan’s mom’s did, but they’re strong nonetheless, and Seungkwan is already overwhelmed and he’s barely made it through the door. Coming here may have been a mistake. 

He tries to cover it with over-the-top graciousness, formal and polite to Hansol’s parents, dialling it up even further to greet his grandmother. 

He laughs and jokes with them all the way through dinner, charm switched on so high that he’s exhausted, by the end of it, cheeks aching as he helps Hansol's mom with the dishes. She’d told him multiple times to go hang out in the living room with Hansol and his sister, but he’d ignored her with a sunny smile, insisting that he wanted to help.

Hansol's mom looks at him for a long moment, now, pausing where she’s been scrubbing at a plate.

“You’re a very sweet boy,” she says. The kindness in her voice is almost unbearable. Seungkwan’s smile comes out a little wavering at first, until he forces himself to hitch it up even further. 

Hansol's mom doesn’t push it beyond that—not at first. But after the dishes are done she leads Seungkwan straight past the living room where the rest of the family is sitting, talking amiably as the TV plays softly, and into the master bedroom instead.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” she asks, urging him to sit. Seungkwan wants to burst into tears—the horrible, heaving sobs of a little kid who doesn’t know any better, trusting that an adult will take care of it for him. 

But Seungkwan _does_ know better. He’s the adult, now. He has to take care of it for the rest of his life. 

“I’m just grateful for your generosity,” Seungkwan says, instead of telling her anything meaningful, his voice wavering just the slightest bit. “Thank you for sharing your home with me.”

Hansol's mom smiles, looking a little confused even though Seungkwan’s pretty sure she understood him just fine.

“Of course,” she says softly. 

“Hansol’s really lucky to have you,” Seungkwan whispers. 

He’s being stupid—he’s knows he should be grateful for his own family, instead of wishing he was part of Hansol’s. Seungkwan has his sisters, his dad. For 17 years he had his mom, too.

“Is there something you want to talk to me about?” Hansol's mom asks, very quietly. Seungkwan sniffs, ugly and snotty, and shakes his head. 

“I don’t think so,” he whispers, just as the door opens and Hangyeol walks in.

“Oh shit—”

“ _Language_ ,” her mom scolds immediately. 

The sudden tone shift startles a wet laugh out of Seungkwan, hiccuping and slightly hysterical, and with it he loses control of himself completely, helpless against the way the laugh takes a sharp right and veers into a sob. 

“Oh shit,” Hangyeol says again, a whisper this time.

“No, it’s not—” Seungkwan can’t find the words to finish the sentence, settles for flapping one hand vaguely in Hangyeol’s direction as he covers his eyes with the other.

“It’s cool, I get it,” Hangyeol says. “I feel like that when I spend all day here, too.”

“You live here,” Seungkwan points out, voice wobbly, hand still covering his face.

“Yeah,” Hangyeol says meaningfully. Seungkwan laughs again, and Hansol's mom just sighs.

“Teenagers,” she says, but her voice is so fond that it makes something twinge in Seungkwan’s chest. 

“Whatever,” Hangyeol says. “Sorry you’re crying, Seungkwan-oppa. I’ll tell Hansol you’re pooping so he doesn’t come looking for you.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says, mostly because he doesn’t know how else to respond to that.

“She’s at that age, you know?” Hansol's mom says, once Hangyeol’s shut the door behind her. She sounds exasperated, but still so full of love. The empty space inside Seungkwan’s chest aches.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says, even though he doesn’t actually remember ever acting like that. It’s nice to pretend. 

Hansol's mom stays next to him, rubbing his back, until his eyes aren’t red anymore and his voice isn’t in danger of cracking. She gets him a cool compress and everything, lets him borrow her concealer so Seungkwan can pretend no one can tell. 

In the car on the way home, both of them basking in the luxury of a free ride from Hansol’s dad, Hansol reaches out to squeeze Seungkwan’s hand.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says, like he wasn’t doing Seungkwan a huge favour by inviting him. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Seungkwan says, too embarrassed to acknowledge Hansol’s sincerity.

“They all really loved you,” Hansol says, instead of letting Seungkwan off the emotional hook. 

“We did,” Hansol’s dad confirms from the front seat. Seungkwan whines a little, overwhelmed. 

“Ugh,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me cry, stop it.”

Hansol rolls his eyes, good-natured as ever.

“You already did that once tonight,” he points out, and Seungkwan groans again, louder this time, betrayed. 

“I knew my face was still puffy,” he moans, closing his eyes and knocking his head against the back of the seat as dramatically he can manage without actually hurting himself. “Could everyone tell?”

“I mean…” Hansol trails off without completing the sentence, which is a pretty definitive _yes_.

“This is so humiliating,” Seungkwan huffs, shaking his head. “Your sister said she’d cover for me!”

“Yeah, she tried,” Hansol says. “But there’s no way you’d take a shit in my parents’ house unless it was an emergency, and if it was an emergency you’d tell me about it because you’d need my help. So.”

Seungkwan can’t tell if the amount of thought Hansol put into that scenario is gross or sweet. Both, probably. Unfortunately. 

“I can’t believe you spent all afternoon thinking about me shitting,” Seungkwan says, so they won’t have to talk about how he spent all afternoon crying. 

“I was thinking about how you _weren’t_ shitting,” Hansol clarifies, like that’s so much better. Seungkwan really wishes Hansol’s dad wasn’t witnessing this entire conversation.

“Oh, well, in _that_ case,” Seungkwan huffs, but he’s smiling, and so is Hansol. 

“If it makes you feel any better, my mom gave me a whole lecture right before we left.”

“Why would that make me feel better?” Seungkwan asks, and then, because he doesn’t like not knowing things, “A lecture about what?”

“You,” Hansol says simply, and Seungkwan’s cheeks flush hot. 

“Why would you need a lecture about me?” he asks, equal parts curious and embarrassed. 

Hansol leans back against the headrest, head turned so he’s looking straight at Seungkwan. 

“She told me to take care of you,” Hansol says. 

Seungkwan regrets his earlier curiosity, too embarrassed to want to hear more. It feels like his entire face is on fire.

“Well,” he splutters. “That seems unnecessary.”

“It’s not,” Hansol’s dad chimes in from the front seat. Seungkwan startles—he’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh my god,” he moans dramatically, because it’s always easiest to ham it up. “The Chwes are ganging up on me, this is so unfair.”

“You’re going to have to get to get used to it,” Hansol’s dad says, sounding completely unsympathetic. 

“I guess I can try,” Seungkwan says, as longsuffering as he can manage when his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He doesn’t do a very good job, but Hansol still smiles. Still lets him get away with it.

_ day 193 _

“His family was so nice,” Seungkwan moans. “Even his scary grandma, what the fuck.”

“I’m not really sure why you seem so upset about this,” Jeonghan says. “Or why you’re telling me about it?”

“Everyone else was busy, you were literally my last choice,” Seungkwan says. “But you could at least _try_ to be sympathetic, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Jeonghan says easily. 

“Oh god,” Seungkwan whimpers, the tears rising faster than he can will them back. This is so humiliating—in front of _Jeonghan_ , of all people, who’s more lizard than man. Seungkwan will never live this down. 

Jeonghan laughs nervously across the table, clearly unequipped to handle Seungkwan’s unexpected emotional breakdown. That makes two of them—Seungkwan isn’t equipped for this either. They are in a _chain café_. 

“Don’t look at me,” he snaps, flapping a hand in Jeonghan’s direction. 

“Where else can I look? You’re in my line of vision,” Jeonghan says, which is _not_ helpful.

“Look, I know this is really hard for you, but can you _please_ just, like, not be yourself for five minutes?” Seungkwan begs, voice wavering too much to lend his words any bite. “Just, like. Be a different person. A better person. Please. I just need five minutes.”

“Okay,” Jeonghan says. Seungkwan can’t see his face, can’t tell if he’s being serious or mocking, but a moment later he hears the scraping noise of a chair being pushed back. Seungkwan keeps his hands pressed firmly to his face as he hears a murmured conversation somewhere nearby and tries to pretend he is literally anywhere else. 

“Hi!” 

The voice startles Seungkwan, makes him startle and jerk his hands away from his face to see who’s speaking. It’s not Jeonghan, that’s for certain—someone kinder, warmer.

He blinks up into— 

Wow.

That sure is a smile.

“Um,” Seungkwan stutters, tears briefly forgotten in the wake of his shock. “Hi?”

“Your friend asked me to help,” the man says, gesturing to where Jeonghan’s standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed, looking as anxious as Seungkwan’s ever seen him—which is to say, not very anxious at all. 

“Um,” Seungkwan says again. “Do you… know him?”

“Oh, no! We just met!” the man smiles, sounding awfully cheerful about it. “I ran into him outside the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Seungkwan says slowly, and then sniffs. “Well. Um. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…”

The man’s smile dims immediately, eyes widening sympathetically. This entire exchange is so strange that Seungkwan is starting to doubt if he’s even fully conscious. Maybe it’s all a horrible fever dream, and if he blinks hard enough he’ll wake up back at Hansol’s apartment, having fallen asleep watching one of Hansol’s weird movies again. 

“I understand completely,” the man says seriously. “Do you need tissues? Your friend gave me some.”

He holds out a handful of what turns out to be toilet paper, _not_ tissues. Seungkwan leans around him so he can glare at Jeonghan properly. Jeonghan’s eyes widen, holding his hands out and mouthing _what?_

Seungkwan widens his own eyes as threateningly as he can in response.

He takes the toilet paper, though, partly because this poor man has a very kind face and partly because he _is_ pretty snotty, and his sniffing is starting to get disgusting. 

“I am so sorry about him,” Seungkwan says, voice muffled by toilet paper. “I’m Boo Seungkwan, by the way. That’s Yoon Jeonghan, if he didn’t bother to introduce himself before he threw you at me like a total freak.”

“Oh, he did! But thank you, that’s very nice of you! I’m Lee Seokmin!”

Lee Seokmin, as it turns out, was having a perfectly normal coffee break with his older sister when Jeonghan ambushed him on his way out of the bathroom, and he apparently didn’t think there was anything weird at all about being asked by a total stranger to comfort his crying friend for him.

And he _does_ comfort Seungkwan, patting him on the back and handing him pieces of toilet paper and warning him that if he cries too much, Seokmin will cry too ( _“I’m a sympathetic crier,”_ Seokmin says with a cute little grimace. Seungkwan has no trouble believing it). 

Finally, after five agonizing minutes, nose red and chafed and pride completely pulverized, Seungkwan manages to pull himself together long enough to sit up straight and take in his surroundings.

“You can tell Jeonghan to come back now,” he says miserably.

“Are you sure?” Seokmin asks. He seems genuinely concerned, which is wild.

“Yes,” Seungkwan sighs, perhaps slightly more dramatically than necessary. 

“This really wasn’t uncomfortable for you at all?” Seungkwan asks as he grabs his bag and straightens the table, crumpling all the toilet paper so he can throw it in the trash on his way out. 

“Oh, it was fine! I work in the theatre, everyone’s crying all the time!” Seokmin says, which somehow answers a whole host of questions Seungkwan didn’t even know he had. 

When Seungkwan asks him, later, why he’d accepted such a bizarre request, he simply smiles and says that he thought Jeonghan was funny, so like. Good to know no one Seungkwan associates with on a regular basis is a normal person, he supposes.

_ day 202 _

“You could try to take the class next semester,” Hansol offers, brow furrowed in concern. Seungkwan gave up halfway through his research and has now draped himself across the table, moaning loudly about how he can’t do it, he _really_ can’t do it. It’s becoming a regular occurrence this semester. 

“Yeah, but Jeonghannie-hyung says it’s easier if I do it this way and get it over with,” Seungkwan sighs. There’s a pause, and when he realizes Hansol isn’t responding he looks up to find a frown on Hansol’s face. 

“What?” Seungkwan asks, thinking back to what he just said, trying to figure out what part Hansol disapproves of.

“I don’t understand why you always listen to him,” Hansol says. 

Seungkwan pauses, taking that in.

“Who, Jeonghan?” 

“You’re always hanging out with him,” Hansol says. “It’s just kind of weird, that’s all.”

Seungkwan can feel something growing in his stomach, a defensive anger he knows won’t lead him anywhere good. 

“It’s whatever,” he says, maybe a little petulantly. “I can hang out with whoever I want.”

“That’s not— I know you can,” Hansol says. “But it’s weird that you hang out with him more than the people you say are your friends.”

“They _are_ my friends,” Seungkwan protests, baffled. 

“Are they your friends, or are they just people you know?” Hansol asks. 

Seungkwan frowns, a retort on the tip of his tongue. The childish part of him wants to fight Hansol on it, really put his foot down and refuse to let it go.

But… Seungkwan isn’t sure he’d win, is the thing. Hansol isn’t _wrong_ , exactly. Seungkwan knows plenty of people, and he calls a lot of them his friends, but he isn’t close with any of them. Not the way he’d been with his high school friends, before— Before. 

He changes his tactic.

“Maybe that’s how I want it,” he says, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow for emphasis. “And so what if I want to hang out with Jeonghan? It’s my life, isn’t it?”

It’s maybe the most confrontational he’s ever been with Hansol and Hansol just stares at him, looking shocked. Seungkwan feels shocked at himself, and already ashamed. 

Hansol keeps staring at him for a long moment, silent, before nodding once. 

“Okay,” he says.

He’s letting Seungkwan get away with it. Seungkwan takes a deep breath, and doesn’t push it further. He’s never really fought with Hansol before, and he doesn’t want this to be the first time. 

“I can stop hanging out with Jeonghan so much, if it bothers you,” Seungkwan says placatingly, the need to smooth things over making him backtrack, but Hansol shakes his head.

“That’s not what I want,” he says.

Seungkwan frowns, confused.

“Really? You hate Jeonghan,” he says, squinting at Hansol in disbelief.

“I don’t hate him,” Hansol says. “And that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Seungkwan asks, lost. 

“I don’t want…” Hansol trails off, looking frustrated. Seungkwan gives him the room to speak. “I want you to have good things,” Hansol says, finally. Seungkwan stares at him.

“What does that mean?” 

“It means I don’t want you to settle for less,” Hansol says. 

“I still don’t understand,” Seungkwan says, starting to feel offended but still not quite sure why. 

“You say Jeonghan isn’t your friend and he’s a terrible person, but he’s the only person you really talk to,” Hansol says. “It just. It makes me worried, that’s all.”

The anger inside Seungkwan deflates as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only humiliation in its wake. 

“Jeonghan isn’t really a bad person,” Seungkwan says weakly. He means it, mostly. Jeonghan is incorrigible—he cheats at every game he plays, he hoards secrets like gold, he never takes anything seriously—but he isn’t cruel. 

And it isn’t just that, it’s also—

Seungkwan lives in a single apartment. He doesn’t like the empty silence but he can’t spend all his time at Hansol’s place, as much as he wants to, and when he’s tired and annoyed, spending time with anyone else is exhausting.

Jeonghan is the only other person Seungkwan knows who reaches out first. He’s the only other person who doesn’t give a shit when Seungkwan says something weird or mean. He’s the only one Seungkwan knows will still want to be friends with him, even after Seungkwan acts like a miserable gremlin instead of the kind, friendly person he wants to be. Jeonghan’s annoying and ridiculous, but he’s the only person besides Hansol who Seungkwan trusts to give him advice when he really needs it. That means something, as much as it pains Seungkwan to admit it.

Hansol would understand if Seungkwan tried to explain it, probably, or at least he’d try. But Seungkwan doesn’t know how to say it in a way that doesn’t make him sound pathetic, so he just shrugs helplessly instead.

“Okay,” Hansol says. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Seungkwan says, and his voice only wavers a little bit.

_ day 220 _

“We should do something nice,” Seungkwan says, abrupt in the comfortable silence of the living room. Hansol looks up from his laptop, startled. “Like, invite people over and make them dinner or something.”

Hansol squints at him.

“ _Make_ them dinner?” he says, finally, which—yeah, alright. He has a point.

“We should order dinner for our guests and clean the apartment so it looks like we’re real adults,” Seungkwan amends. 

“Okay,” Hansol says after a moment, bemused.

“You can invite your producer hyung, and I’ll invite Mingyu and Seokmin and ugh, I guess Jeonghan, and obviously we’ll invite Chan,” Seungkwan says, trailing off at the expression on Hansol’s face. “What?”

“Chan lives here,” Hansol points out. Seungkwan rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever, you know what I mean,” Seungkwan says, waving his hand, and then, “do you know his days off?”

He’s met with a blank stare.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I don't know what I expected,” he says. Hansol shrugs, laughing a little, self-deprecating as ever.

“I don’t either,” he says. Seungkwan shoves at his shoulder, mostly for show.

“You’re useless,” Seungkwan teases. 

“Hey!” Hansol protests weakly. “Who caught that spider in the bathroom last week?”

“No, don’t remind me,” Seungkwan moans, shuddering at the memory. 

“We can invite Chan’s dance hyung too,” Seungkwan says, already moving forward with the plans in his head. “Soonyoung, right?”

“Yeah, Soonyoung-hyung,” Hansol says. 

“Oh, have you met him?” Seungkwan asks, perking up in his seat, earlier curiosity suddenly rekindled. “What’s he like?”

“I dunno,” Hansol says. “A little weird, I guess? Good vibe, though.”

“Wow, thank you,” Seungkwan says dryly. “I feel like I know him already.”

“I don’t know,” Hansol laughs. “He’s just a guy.”

“But he’s close with Chan, right?” Seungkwan presses, determined. 

“Hm? Yeah,” Hansol nods. “They’ve known each other forever. They met when they were kids, I think.”

“And now they work together? That’s so cute,” Seungkwan says. 

“I guess so,” Hansol says, not sounding like he has any particularly strong feelings on the subject.

“Whenever Chan talks about him, he barely tells me anything,” Seungkwan pouts. “I want to get to know him better.”

“I’m sure it’s not on purpose,” Hansol says. “I’ll tell Chan you want to hang out.”

“With both of them!” Seungkwan emphasizes, and Hansol laughs. 

“With both of them,” he confirms, still smiling. “It’ll be fun.”

Chan’s dance hyung _is_ fun, as it turns out. Soonyoung drinks cheerfully and laughs freely; he gets along with Seokmin like a house on fire and even coaxes Hansol’s awkward producer hyung out of his shell. 

It’s nice, actually, Seungkwan thinks, looking around at the living room. Jeonghan and Seokmin are curled up on the couch together watching Hansol, Soonyoung, and Jihoon play Super Smash, both of them too lazy to actually pick up a controller themselves. Chan is perched on the opposite arm of the couch next to Soonyoung, occasionally leaning down to whisper something in his ear. 

“This is nice,” Seungkwan says to Mingyu, both of them leaning against the kitchen counter after cleaning up—Seungkwan had tried to stop Mingyu from doing it himself, but when it almost came to blows he’d given up and just helped instead. 

The kitchen is clean, now, both of them taking a breather. 

Mingyu hums in agreement.

“It is,” he says, smiling. “It’s nice to get to know you better.”

Seungkwan stares at him.

“You know me,” he says faintly, unsure whether it’s worth it to get offended.

“Yeah, but you’re always…” Mingyu flails a hand around vaguely. “You know?”

“I don’t,” Seungkwan says.

“I just feel like you don’t really let people get close, I guess,” Mingyu says. From someone else it might sound accusatory, but in Mingyu’s soft voice it’s just a quiet statement of fact. Seungkwan twists his mouth, annoyed. 

“Ugh,” he lets out, thinking of his conversation with Hansol.

“What?” Mingyu laughs. “Did I say something wrong?”

“God, no, you’re fine,” Seungkwan says. It’s just like Mingyu to be overly conscientious, kind even when Seungkwan doesn’t deserve it. “I’m just thinking about how Hansol was right.”

“Ah,” Mingyu says delicately. 

“Whatever,” Seungkwan says, straightening his posture and, on second glance, Mingyu’s as well. “I can admit when I was wrong, it’s not a big deal.”

Mingyu lets out a little snort of disagreement, followed immediately by a sharp inhale as Seungkwan elbows him in the ribs. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Mingyu whines, but it doesn’t sound like his heart’s really in it. 

“I’m glad you came,” Seungkwan says, and hopes Mingyu understands what he means.

It’s late, the party dwindled down to almost nothing. Mingyu’s in the kitchen making ramyun—he probably thinks he’s being quiet, but he’s slammed the cabinet door three times already and let out a startled yelp every time. 

Chan’s slumped over the table, chin propped up by his fists and eyes drooping closed.

Seungkwan lost track of Hansol—he’s in the bathroom, maybe, or outside having a smoke. He never tells Seungkwan before he goes, because he knows how much Seungkwan hates it. Seungkwan isn’t sure which one of them he’s trying to spare—himself from hearing the lecture, or Seungkwan from having to give it. 

Seungkwan ambles over to where Chan’s sitting and plops down, squeezing in next to him at the coffee table. 

“It’s all fucked up,” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan spares a glance at the empty soju bottles in front of him. 

“Yeah, the peach is always a mistake,” he agrees, starting to push them to the side, trying to get the table clear enough to wipe it down. 

“No,” Chan says, grabbing Seungkwan’s arm. “Not that.”

Seungkwan pauses, turning to get a better look at Chan’s face. Chan looks stricken, genuinely upset, that specific emotional urgency that only comes when you’re drunk. Seungkwan sighs, giving up on his half-hearted cleaning. They’ve entered the impromptu therapy session stage of the party, apparently. 

“What did you do?” he asks, long-suffering, as though Chan has ever, in the brief sum total of their interactions, come to Seungkwan with any personal problems whatsoever. As though Seungkwan was aware, before this moment, that Chan even _had_ personal problems. 

“Hyung got an offer to choreograph for an idol group,” Chan says instead of answering Seungkwan’s question, idly picking at a scab on his forearm. 

“Stop that, it’ll scar,” Seungkwan says, swatting at his hand, and then, finally processing what Chan just said, “holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Chan says, miserable expression on his face completely at odds with the news he just revealed.

“Um, is that bad, though?” Seungkwan asks hesitantly, trying to be delicate even though he feels like he’s dying of curiosity. Which idol group? Which company? What type of offer? 

“No,” Chan says, still looking more upset than Seungkwan’s ever seen him. 

“Then…?” Seungkwan trails off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. 

“He turned it down,” Chan says. Seungkwan blinks, surprised. Not the direction he expected.

“Why would he do that?” Seungkwan asks, genuinely mystified, his earlier annoyance melting away completely as he leans in to hear more. 

“He said it was because of creative differences,” Chan says, sounding deeply skeptical. He takes a deep breath. “But it was because of me, I know it.”

“Why would it be because of you?” Seungkwan asks. God, this keeps getting juicier and juicier. 

“To protect me,” Chan says, sounding frustrated. Seungkwan blinks, thrown.

“Why would your hyung need to protect you?” 

“It’s so stupid!” Chan bursts out, which is not an answer. “I can take care of myself, he knows I can.”

“Of course he does,” Seungkwan says soothingly, not pointing out that Chan didn’t answer the question. Chan doesn’t look convinced. 

“I’m not a little kid anymore, and what happened was a long time ago,” Chan says. Seungkwan nods, eyes wide.

“Totally,” he says, and then, leaning in even closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “So what happened, exactly?”

“Working with idols is where the money is, here,” Chan says, instead of answering Seungkwan’s question. “We shouldn’t pass this up if we want to do well.”

Chan _does_ want to do well, that much is clear. Hansol wasn’t exaggerating when he said Chan works all the time—even now that Seungkwan’s no longer actively avoiding him, they still hardly ever see each other. Seungkwan isn’t sure he’s ever met someone so driven—he works hard, sure, and so do his friends, but Chan doesn’t ever seem to _stop _.__

__“So why did he pass it up?” Seungkwan asks, trying a different tactic. He’s _trying_ to be supportive here, but how is he supposed to help if Chan gives him nothing?_ _

__More importantly, how is he supposed to _know_? The suspense of it all is killing him—it’s too late at night for things to be getting this dramatic._ _

__“It doesn’t matter,” Chan says. “Just like I told _him_. It really doesn’t matter.”_ _

__“Okay,” Seungkwan says, holding out his hands placatingly, trying to masquerade his disappointment as worry. “Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”_ _

__“I want to go home,” Chan mutters despondently._ _

__“You are home,” Seungkwan sighs, looking around at the quiet room, grimacing at the mess they’ll have to clean tomorrow morning._ _

__“Oh,” Chan says, blinking and looking around. Seungkwan smiles at him, urging him to stand._ _

__“Let’s just go to bed, hmm? Everyone else is leaving soon,” Seungkwan says. It’s true—it’s only Mingyu left, now, and maybe Jihoon outside with Hansol._ _

__Chan nods, much more agreeable now that he’s distracted trying to push himself upright. Seungkwan reaches out an arm to steady him._ _

__They find Hansol in the bathroom— _not_ having a smoke; Seungkwan feels vaguely guilty for having doubted his resolve—and he laughs at Chan’s sleepy incoherence, ducking out of the way to let the two of them in. _ _

__Chan’s easygoing when Seungkwan gets him back in his own room—somehow both messy and empty at the same time, something Seungkwan will never understand—pliable as Seungkwan forces him to drink a glass of water before he sleeps._ _

__“Thanks hyung,” he mutters into his pillow._ _

__Seungkwan stays in the room for a moment before he turns out the light, like he can make sure Chan’s safe just by standing at his door.  
_ _

Chan finds Seungkwan the next morning, earlier than he’s usually awake. Seungkwan’s sprawled out on the couch—too lazy to force himself to clean, too tired to crawl back to his own place. It’s too quiet there, anyway. Hansol never minds when he stays. 

“Hey,” Chan says. Seungkwan looks up from where he’s been fucking around on his phone, humming in acknowledgment as he takes out one of his earphones.

“Sorry for last night,” Chan says, and it takes Seungkwan a moment to remember what he’s talking about.

“Oh, honey,” Seungkwan says, waving a hand in dismissal. “That was nothing, don’t even worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Chan asks, focused intently on Seungkwan’s face in a way that’s kind of unsettling at nine in the morning. Seungkwan hasn’t even shaved yet. 

“Of course,” Seungkwan says. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Just—” Chan pauses, biting at his lip. “Don’t tell anyone about the trainee thing, okay?”

“I won’t,” Seungkwan reassures him, grateful Chan found him before Hansol woke up and Seungkwan inevitably told him everything. 

“I don’t like talking about it,” Chan says. Seungkwan frowns, sure he’s missing something.

“Didn’t it just happen?” he asks, confused.

“What,” Chan says blankly, squinting.

“Didn’t your hyung just get offered the position? Teaching the trainees, right?” Seungkwan asks slowly, not sure what else Chan could possibly think he means.

“Oh,” Chan says. “Right.”

Seungkwan narrows his eyes. Chan fidgets a little under his stare. 

“Why don’t you come sit by me,” Seungkwan says, patting the couch next to him. Chan approaches slowly, like he thinks Seungkwan is going to bite.

Ridiculous.

“You can tell me whatever, you know,” Seungkwan says, adopting his best trustworthy hyung voice. Chan nods, but he doesn’t look reassured. “I already embarrassed myself in front of you, remember?” Seungkwan continues. “So if there’s something you want to talk about, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Chan says slowly. 

Seungkwan waits patiently, putting his phone down on the couch cushion next to him. 

“I used to be an idol trainee,” Chan says, finally. Seungkwan’s eyes widen. 

“Really?” he can’t keep himself from asking. Chan’s mouth twists. 

“Yeah,” he says. “For four years. My parents pulled me out before debut.”

“Is that why you think your hyung turned the job down?” Seungkwan asks, the pieces starting to fit together in his head. Chan nods, his hands fidgeting at his knees. 

“I wouldn’t have left,” he says. “My parents made me, but I didn’t want to. I don’t know…” Chan trails off, looking unsure. Seungkwan isn’t sure, either—he doesn’t know what Chan is trying to say.

“Is that why you don’t like idol music?” Seungkwan asks, instead of pushing Chan further. Chan smiles a little.

“It’s obvious, right?” he says, laughing a little. 

“I mean, maybe now,” Seungkwan says honestly. “It wasn’t before. I thought you just thought it was stupid, like you were judging me for liking it.”

Chan’s eyes widen a little.

“Oh no,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Seungkwan says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Is that why you hated me?” Chan asks, like it’s nothing. Seungkwan winces.

“Part of it,” he says. “It was my own shit, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

Chan shrugs. 

“I’m sorry anyway,” he says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Seungkwan says, waving a hand magnanimously. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“I just don’t like talking about it,” Chan continues, frowning a little as he speaks. “It’s really embarrassing, you know?”

Seungkwan thinks to high school, to his classmates asking why his vocal teacher never submitted his audition tape, the unasked question he never wanted to answer.

 _Weren’t you supposed to be in Seoul by now?_

He’s here now, sure, but not the way he was supposed to be.

“I do know,” he says. Something in his face must give him away, because Chan frowns even harder, squinting at Seungkwan like he’s looking for something in Seungkwan’s expression.

Seungkwan’s heart rises up in his throat. 

“I wanted to be a trainee too,” he says, hardly able to believe the words coming out of his mouth.

Chan blinks, then smiles encouragingly. 

“Were you a dancer too?” he asks. Seungkwan snorts out a laugh.

“Oh my god, no,” he says. “Have you ever seen me dance? No.”

“I haven’t,” Chan says earnestly, like he thinks there’s a chance Seungkwan’s been hiding some secret talent from him the whole time. Seungkwan laughs again, shaking his head.

“I was a singer,” he says.

It feels strange to hear himself say it in the past tense. Is he not one still? He doesn’t sing anymore, but he could if he wanted to, right? Is the potential enough? 

It scares him, suddenly, to think that he might lose it forever

“I’m sure you were really good,” Chan says, and he seems like he really means it. Chan has no idea whether Seungkwan was good, but he’d be kind even if Seungkwan wasn’t. It’s infuriating.

Seungkwan shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” he says. “I never even tried.”

“You still could,” Chan says. “It’s not too late.”

Seungkwan stares at him, baffled.

“Of course it is,” he says. “I’m old now.”

“You aren’t,” Chan protests. “You don’t have to be an idol to be a singer, you know.”

Seungkwan blinks at him for a moment, put off-balance. 

It isn’t that he hadn’t _known_ that, it’s just that it hadn’t seemed relevant. _You_ , the general you, didn’t need to be an idol to be a singer, sure. But that wasn’t Seungkwan. _Seungkwan_ didn’t audition to become a trainee, and he stopped going to the singing academy his mother had worked so hard to pay for, and he stopped talking to his friends from singing club. Seungkwan would never be either one—an idol or a singer.

Seungkwan is a broadcasting student, now. He has a goal, and he has friends, and he has a boyfriend—all things he never thought he’d have, back in his final year of high school. 

He has all these wonderful things, and they’re going to have to be enough. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says to Chan, and doesn’t try to explain it any more.

Chan frowns.

“Of course it does,” he says, and Seungkwan just sighs. He should have known Chan wouldn’t let it go easily.

“I don’t want it to,” he clarifies, trying to cut Chan off before it becomes a big deal. Chan hesitates then nods, lips pressed together.

“Okay,” he says, always respectful. Seungkwan feels a brief unexpected flare of anger at Chan for not pushing further, but he swallows it down and smiles. It’s not Chan’s nature, he’s realized. He takes people’s words at face value, so why would Seungkwan be an exception?

Seungkwan smiles instead of snapping, and moves to stand up.

“I need to take a shower,” he says decisively, and Chan only nods.

_ day 329 _

The ping of Seungkwan’s phone startles him at dinner; he’s out with Hansol at their favourite shitty bar, the one Seungkwan always pretends he’s only going to as a huge favour even though he’s pretty sure he’s actually the one who enjoys it more. Hansol never calls him out on it.

Seungkwan unlocks his phone to read it and freezes, blindsided.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, staring at blankly at the message notification.

“What’s up,” Hansol says, reaching for another pretzel. 

“My sister’s going to have a baby,” Seungkwan says, blinking rapidly at his phone like maybe if he just clears his eyes, he’ll look at the screen and see something different. 

“Whoa,” Hansol says, blinking, pretzel pausing halfway towards his mouth. “That’s so cool, dude.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees vacantly. 

“Wait, is it not cool?” Hansol asks as he gets a better look at Seungkwan’s expression. “What’s up?”

“Of course it’s cool, I love babies,” Seungkwan forces out through numb lips.

“You do love babies,” Hansol agrees.

“So there’s no reason it wouldn’t be cool,” Seungkwan says, but he can hear how fake he sounds even as he says it. Hansol definitely doesn’t look convinced. 

“Okay,” Hansol says slowly, clearly waiting for Seungkwan to cave. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“It’s just that I can’t believe she’s doing this? She shouldn’t have even married this guy! They didn’t even have a real wedding!” Seungkwan bursts out, overly loud in his frustration. Hansol blinks, taking it in. 

“Why shouldn’t she have married him?” he asks. “Is he a bad guy?”

“I don’t know! That’s the point! None of us even _knew him_!” 

Seungkwan’s breathing kind of heavily, the force of his outburst taking its toll. Hansol doesn’t seem phased, which maybe he should expect by now. 

“How did they meet?” 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“He was a tourist,” he says. “He came down for a weeklong trip and took noona with him when he left.”

“Oh, wow,” Hansol says, finally looking like he’s taking Seungkwan seriously. 

“Yeah, _wow_ ,” Seungkwan says. “She just left us there! I just don’t understand how she could do that.”

Hansol narrows his eyes, clearly thinking.

“Are you upset because she got married to a guy she just met, or are you upset because she left you behind?”

Seungkwan glares at him, caught. He can’t possibly be expected to analyze his motivations this early in the day. He hasn’t even had his second coffee yet. 

“Does it matter?” he asks, a little huffy.

“I mean,” Hansol says warily, monitoring Seungkwan’s reaction as he speaks, “yeah? Kind of?”

“Then I guess it’s both,” Seungkwan says. “But either way, she shouldn’t have done it.”

“There’s not really anything you can do now,” Hansol points out, ever practical. Seungkwan hates him for it, a little bit. “It was her choice, and it’s already done.”

“You’re infuriating,” Seungkwan sighs.

“Oh, now _I’m_ infuriating? What about your sister?”

“I can be mad at both of you! I’m capable of it!”

“I know you are,” Hansol says, laughing, not sounding even the slightest bit worried.

“You aren’t being very helpful right now,” Seungkwan says pointedly. 

“I’m sorry,” Hansol says, tone sobering up a little. “I don’t meant to, like. Minimize your problems, or whatever.”

“Aw, babe,” Seungkwan coos, irritation momentarily forgotten. “Did you read that article I sent you?”

“I read everything you send me,” Hansol says, a pink flush creeping up the back of his neck. Seungkwan feels a rush of fondness, strong enough to distract him momentarily. 

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Hansol says immediately. “But weren’t we talking about your family?”

Seungkwan moans dramatically, flinging himself back in his chair. 

“What do I _do_ ,” he says. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hansol says carefully.

“But if I don’t then I’ll feel _bad_ ,” Seungkwan whines, and then in a much quieter voice, “I’m going to be an _uncle_.”

“You are,” Hansol says. “That’s really dope, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Seungkwan reminds him with a flick to his elbow.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hansol says cutely in English, playing it up in a stupid voice to try to make Seungkwan laugh. It doesn’t work—the sweetness of the gesture has Seungkwan tearing up anyway. 

“Shit,” he mutters, reaching for a napkin. 

“You’re good,” Hansol says, pushing the box closer. His hand comes to rest on Seungkwan’s back, warm and reassuring. “Do you wanna just leave?”

“We never even ordered,” Seungkwan laughs, then sniffs deeply. This is so embarrassing—he’s already getting snotty. His nose is probably bright red. “You must be starving.”

“It’s no big deal,” Hansol says easily. “We can get something to go.”

“That would be nice,” Seungkwan says in a very small voice. 

“Alright,” Hansol says, and pushes himself out of the booth. Seungkwan watches him head to the counter to put in an order, dabbing absentmindedly at his eyes with the napkin. He winces at the rough drag against his skin—he can practically _feel_ it giving him wrinkles. 

“He’ll call us up when it’s done,” Hansol says, slipping back in next to Seungkwan and immediately wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It shouldn’t be long.”

“What would I do without you,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning his head against Hansol’s shoulder. 

“Starve,” Hansol says immediately, squeezing Seungkwan closer.

“Is that why you don’t talk to your sister anymore? Because she left?” Hansol asks later. 

The greasy bar food wasn’t really meant for takeout—it didn’t taste the same when they ate it together on the couch of Hansol’s apartment, the brightness of the living room bringing its many flaws to light. They’d devoured it anyway—Hansol because he skipped lunch to study and Seungkwan because he was so anxious he was shaking with it. 

Seungkwan shrugs against the back of the couch. He’s slumped down far enough to give himself an impressive double-chin and Hansol hasn’t even tried to make fun of him, so things really must seem dire. 

“Kind of,” Seungkwan says. His throat feels achy and strange, and it’s not just from the horrible angle of his neck. 

“What are you gonna do?” Hansol asks.

Seungkwan winces.

He’s going to call Seulhae—he knows he is. He’s been avoiding it for years now, but he can’t avoid a _baby_ , and even if he could he wouldn’t want to. Seungkwan’s a coward, sure, but he doesn’t think he’s a horrible person.

But calling Seulhae brings up a whole host of issues he doesn’t want to deal with, right now or maybe ever. If he talks to Seulhae, he needs to talk to Seunghee. And if he talks to Seulhae and Seunghee, shouldn’t he call his dad too, while he’s at it?

Even just thinking about it has a cold pit of dread forming in his stomach. Seungkwan stopped talking to his father long before he even moved out—it’s been over a year, now. What on earth is there to say?

Seungkwan can’t change the way he acted, can’t go back and force himself to be a dutiful son. He isn’t sure he would, even if he could—his father had never been a large presence in his life to start with, his mother’s death only making the void more apparent.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” Seungkwan mumbles, turning so he can press his face into the couch cushion.

“Alright,” Hansol says gently, and he leaves him be.

_ day 342 _

The whole night out was Seungkwan’s idea, which, he thinks sourly to himself, explains why it ends up going south. 

Everyone else is having a great time, of course, but Seungkwan started feeling moody somewhere around his second shot, and things have been progressing steadily downhill ever since. No one has noticed except Hansol, but Seungkwan waved him off when he asked if Seungkwan was alright, and apparently Hansol trusts him enough to take him at his word, because he didn’t push any further. 

Which is fine, whatever, Seungkwan loves knowing that his supposed closest friends don’t even know him well enough to tell when he’s upset, but but now they’re at a noraebang, and Seungkwan can’t help thinking that he should have taken the out and let Hansol drag him home early. 

He’s passed up his turn three times now and he doesn’t think he can get away with it again, and the real problem is that he doesn’t _want_ to get away with it again. But it’s all tangled up—he hasn’t been to a noraebang since. Well. 

Since before. 

But he’s here now, with his friends, for the first time in years, and his mom’s favourite song is playing as Jeonghan and Soonyoung squabble over who’s up next, Chan watching with fond bemusement.

“My mom loved this song,” he says absently, not really intending anyone to hear him—the room noisy enough to swallow it up. But Seokmin looks up, somehow, clearly registering at least part of what Seungkwan said, and smiles, big and bright. 

“You should sing it!” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the din of their friends. “Guys! Seungkwan wants to sing this one! He loves this song!”

Well. He got it right enough. 

Soonyoung drops his argument with Jeonghan immediately, grinning and passing the mic over with a whoop of encouragement— _everyone’s_ encouraging him, suddenly, shouting his name and pressing the mic into his hands, and Seungkwan could probably say no but it would mean making a scene, and the truth is he doesn’t _want_ to say no.

What he wants to do is sing, and he’s just drunk enough to forget why he shouldn’t. 

So he takes the mic from Soonyoung, and he starts the song over from the beginning and he sings, really sings. Not the joking falsetto he puts on for his favourite girl group songs, or the ugly warbling when he tries to duet with Hansol in English while they make dinner. 

He _sings_ , the same voice his mom used to tell him was beautiful. The voice she told him was beautiful, singing the song she loved the best. 

Seungkwan sings it all, every single word, with his eyes closed like he’s in some sort of a trance, and when the song is over and the music fades out he blinks his eyes back open to find the whole room staring at him. 

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung whispers. 

Seungkwan’s heart sinks like a stone.

“I have to go,” he says. 

Someone protests, but Seungkwan doesn’t let himself acknowledge it at all, just pushes through them to get to the door, desperate to find a place where he can breathe. 

Hansol finds him five minutes later, puking his guts out by the dumpster behind the building.

“You okay?” he asks, voice very quiet. 

Seungkwan coughs, then spits, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Great,” he croaks out, taking a deep breath to try and slow his heart rate. His left eye is twitching. 

“You didn’t drink that much,” Hansol says, a little cautious, finally close enough to reach out and rub Seungkwan’s back, hand warm and reassuring. 

“I didn’t,” Seungkwan agrees. His stomach lurches again; a warning. He closes his eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Hansol says.

“You didn’t,” Seungkwan agrees again, voice very small. His eyes are still closed.

There’s silence, for a moment, and then he’s startled by the feeling something of something draping over his shoulders. It smells like Hansol—his body wash, his cologne. The faintest smell of cigarettes underneath. 

Seungkwan opens his eyes to find Hansol smiling at him, the tiniest quirk of his mouth. 

“I’m gonna look ridiculous,” Seungkwan sighs, giving up and letting Hansol fit his arms through the plaid overshirt. “Your shoulders are so much wider than mine.”

“Nah, it’s cute,” Hansol says easily, wrapping an arm around Seungkwan and guiding him to walk towards the street. 

“I should…” Seungkwan trails off, gesturing towards the entrance of the noraebang. He doesn’t actually move to go in, though, which he’s sure Hansol notices.

“I got your wallet and your phone,” Hansol says. “Let’s just go home, yeah?”

“Alright,” Seungkwan sighs, thankful.

Seungkwan lets himself drift towards where Hansol’s called a cab, leaning into the warmth of his side and not saying anything.

In the car, Hansol confirms the address with the driver, voice hushed, as Seungkwan scoots into the middle seat so he can tilt his head against Hansol’s shoulder.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Hansol warns, voice still very quiet. Seungkwan is vaguely aware that Hansol is being very careful with him, but it all feels muted, far away. Seungkwan doesn’t mind being coddled when it’s quiet like this. 

“Okay,” he says sleepily, and then yawns. Hansol laughs, shoulders shaking under Seungkwan’s cheek. Seungkwan smiles to himself. 

He lets Hansol coax him out of the cab and into the elevator of his apartment building, down the hallway and into the apartment, through the living room into the bedroom. 

“I need to brush my teeth,” Seungkwan tells the ceiling, making no move to get up from where he’s lying on Hansol’s bed. 

“Oh, yeah, you definitely do,” Hansol agrees. Seungkwan frowns, vaguely offended even though all Hansol did was agree with him, but he’s too tired to try to whine about it. 

Seungkwan’s eyes drift closed as he listens to the rustling sounds of Hansol searching for something to wear. He doesn’t try to make himself move.

“Babe?” Hansol’s voice is much closer, now.

Seungkwan makes a listless noise of acknowledgement. He feels deflated, like all the energy has been drained right out of him. 

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” Hansol says, and that forces Seungkwan’s eyes open. 

“I’m fine,” he says, reaching out a hand and waving it vaguely in Hansol’s direction, letting it drop back onto the bedspread with a soft thump.

“C’mon,” Hansol says softly. 

Seungkwan feels the bed shift under him, jostling him a little. He turns his head to see Hansol leaning over him, one knee on the bed. He tugs at Seungkwan’s arm, pulling until he’s sitting up.

“I can do it myself,” Seungkwan mutters, even though he hasn’t given Hansol much reason to believe that. Hansol just chuckles in response, pulling until Seungkwan’s upright, one strong arm wrapped firmly around Seungkwan’s shoulders. 

“You’ll feel better afterwards,” Hansol promises, easing him towards the bathroom. Seungkwan watches in the mirror as Hansol carefully runs Seungkwan’s toothbrush under water and squeezes out the toothpaste, then hands it to him before starting on his own.

“I love you,” Hansol tells Seungkwan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Stop it,” Seungkwan says around a mouthful of foam. “I look like garbage, no you don’t.”

“Don’t insult my boyfriend,” Hansol says mildly. 

Ugh.

“Oh my god, really stop,” Seungkwan says, but there’s a smile worming its way onto his face anyway. Hansol smiles back in the mirror, wide and warm.

“C’mon,” he says, after Seungkwan’s spit, rinsed, and patted his face dry as neatly as he can manage. “Let’s go to bed.”

Seungkwan follows his lead.

“I haven’t sung for anyone since my mom died,” Seungkwan says the next morning over coffee, both of them rumpled and headachy, squinting at each other across the table. 

“Oh,” Hansol says. There’s a moment of total quiet, still but not entirely unpleasant, and then Hansol reaches across the table to squeeze Seungkwan’s hand, grip steady and firm. Seungkwan takes a deep breath, in and out, like he used to do in high school right before he went on stage. 

“I’m sorry I never told you,” he says. Hansol’s brows furrow into a frown, face as beautifully expressive as ever. 

“Why would you be sorry?” he asks.

“I dunno, it felt like something I was supposed to tell you,” Seungkwan says. “We’re dating, I’m supposed to tell you everything.”

Hansol just shrugs, eyebrows still knit together. Seungkwan's free hand fidgets in his lap.

“I’m glad you told me now,” Hansol says finally. The words come out slowly, like he’s really concentrating. “But it would still be okay if you didn’t.”

Seungkwan blinks. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers. Hansol laughs, startled.

“Sorry,” he says. “Did I say something wrong?”

“What the fuck?” Seungkwan says again, louder this time. “No!”

“Oh,” Hansol says, laughing awkwardly. “Well, that’s good, then.”

“Of course it’s good,” Seungkwan moans, sniffing dramatically. “I’m over here freaking out and you’re just over there like, ‘Hey, look at me, my name’s Hansol and I’m the best boyfriend on the planet.’”

“Not possible,” Hansol says. “The best boyfriend title has already been taken.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. 

“Please don’t,” he says, cheeks flushing in pre-emptive embarrassment. 

“By one Boo Seungkwan,” Hansol continues, ignoring him completely. Seungkwan’s cheeks flush even hotter. 

“You’re so embarrassing,” he says quietly. Hansol nods, smiling. He squeezes Seungkwan’s hand and doesn’t say anything more. 

“I can’t take you home,” Seungkwan says after a moment, staring determinedly at a fixed point on the table in front of him. “I don’t really have that anymore. But you could meet my sister, if you wanted?”

He still can’t look up.

“That would be dope,” Hansol says. Seungkwan’s head shoots up, ready to glare at him for not taking Seungkwan’s emotional vulnerability seriously enough, but when he meets Hansol’s eyes there’s nothing mocking in his expression.

“Yeah?” Seungkwan asks, very quietly. 

“Yeah, dude,” Hansol says, taking Seungkwan’s hand. 

Seungkwan sniffs.

“You know I hate it when you call me dude,” he says, voice very wet and the slightest bit petulant. He squeezes Hansol’s hand to soften it.

“It’s been mentioned,” Hansol agrees, squeezing back. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“Thank you,” Seungkwan sniffs again. 

“So, uh, Chan’s moving out,” Hansol says after a quiet moment, eyes darting over to watch Seungkwan’s reaction. “Soonyoung-hyung found them a job in LA.”

“Oh?” Seungkwan turns to face him, both genuinely curious and selfishly grateful for the distraction. “So they’re really not gonna do the idol thing?”

“I guess not,” Hansol says. 

“Good for them,” Seungkwan says, meaning it. He hopes that’s what makes Chan happy. 

“Yeah, he’s really happy about it.” Hansol pauses. “I was thinking, since you’re over here all the time…”

Seungkwan’s heart picks up its rhythm in his chest. 

“Yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow, a smile fighting its way onto his face. 

Hansol seems to realize Seungkwan isn’t going to make it easy for him. He laughs, a nervous little exhale, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “There’s a space for you here. Or we could find our own place together, if you wanted to.”

“Is this you trying to ask me to move in with you?” Seungkwan asks, happiness fizzing inside of him, laughter bubbling out. 

“I guess so, yeah,” Hansol laughs. Seungkwan clicks his tongue.

“Yah,” he scolds. “Where’s the romance, huh? _I guess so?_ ”

“Oh, shit,” Hansol says, sitting up a little straighter. “My bad.” He casts a quick glance around the room, as though he’s going to find something romantic in his immediate vicinity. Seungkwan’s chest overflows with fondness. 

“Well, it’s too late _now_ ,” Seungkwan chastises, the giddy smile on his face ruining any attempt at seriousness. 

“You’ll think about it, though?” Hansol asks, smiling.

“There’s nothing to think about,” Seungkwan says. “Let’s do it.”

Seungkwan has never made a decision as big as this one so quickly in his entire life, and judging by how high Hansol’s eyebrows have climbed up his forehead, he’s aware of this fact.

“Wait, really?”

“What, were you expecting me to say no?” Seungkwan laughs. “Obviously I want to move in with you.”

“Dope,” Hansol says, his smile so wide Seungkwan can see all his teeth. It is, as always, the slightest bit terrifying, but mostly cute. 

“Dope,” Seungkwan agrees, crossing his legs neatly at the ankle and sitting up straight in his seat. “So what are your thoughts about colour schemes?”

Hansol throws his head back and laughs, but he takes Seungkwan’s arguments about living room shelves seriously. It turns out he has some pretty strong feelings about the colour orange, which is alarming, but Seungkwan can deal with it.

“I forgot,” Hansol says, interrupting Seungkwan mid-rant about choosing curtains over blinds. Seungkwan stops abruptly.

“What?” he asks, only a little petulant. “You know I’m right.”

“No, no, of course you are,” Hansol says. “It’s not that.”

“Then what,” Seungkwan says slowly. He searches Hansol’s expression for clues and finding nothing, Hansol as stoic as ever. 

“I forgot to tell you,” Hansol says. “I don’t know if this is the wrong time to bring it up”—it is, but Seungkwan doesn’t call him on it—“but Jihoon-hyung really liked your voice last night. He’s looking for someone to help him record guides and stuff, he wanted me to ask you about it.”

Seungkwan inhales sharply.

“You can say no,” Hansol says in a rush. “You can totally say no, it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask.”

“I’m out of practice,” Seungkwan hedges. Part of him is lit up with excitement, the thrill of being noticed impossible to ignore, but it’s not enough to shrug off the self-doubt. 

Hansol shrugs.

“You sounded good to me,” he says. “Hyung too, and he doesn’t give praise unless you earn it.”

“I don’t know…” Seungkwan trails off. He doesn’t know if it’s even possible—it’s been so long since he sang anything meaningful that he really is out of practice. But it’s not just that, and he knows Hansol knows that too. 

Even if Seungkwan’s physically capable, he still doesn’t know if he _can_.

Hansol smiles at him, obviously sensing Seungkwan’s discomfort.

“It wouldn’t be a huge responsibility or anything,” he says, voice reassuring. “Maybe a couple of hours every few weeks, that’s it.”

Seungkwan takes a deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” he says honestly. 

“That’s all I ask,” Hansol says, smiling. He reaches out to wrap an arm around Seungkwan, tugging him over until Seungkwan’s alongside him, head leaning comfortably on Hansol’s shoulder. 

“I meant it about the blinds,” Seungkwan says, after a moment. Hansol’s laugh is a sharp, startled bark.

_ day 378 _

“It’s really okay if I come with you?” Hansol asks for what feels like the hundredth time.

“ _Yes_ ,” Seungkwan huffs, exasperated. If it wasn’t okay, it would definitely be too late for Seungkwan to tell him—Hansol’s already slinging his backpack over his shoulder, ready to go.

Hansol reaches to take Seungkwan’s rolling case from him even though he’s already carrying his own backpack, nudging Seungkwan’s hand out of the way even as Seungkwan protests weakly.

They take a cab to the subway station, Seungkwan nervous about the uneven pavement ruining the wheels on his suitcase. It’s two connections before they can get on the train to Daegu, and Seungkwan’s stomach is in knots the entire time. His heartbeat keeps tripping over itself, making him so wired up he can barely string together a coherent sentence. Hansol has to buy their tickets, Seungkwan’s hands trembling too much to even make an attempt.

He tries to relax once they’re actually seated on the train, side-by-side with their luggage stowed neatly behind them, but it doesn’t really work.

How can he relax, when he’ll be seeing his sister for the first time in years, in just a matter of hours? 

Seungkwan lets out a tiny whine, and Hansol’s head jerks up. He’s wearing earphones, so either he’s got the volume turned down lower than usual or he never turned on his music at all.

“You good?” Hansol murmurs, reaching over to squeeze Seungkwan’s hand.

“I think I’m gonna die,” Seungkwan says, slumping over onto Hansol’s shoulder. He feels Hansol’s shoulder shake underneath his cheek when he laughs, a gentle little tremor. 

“You won’t,” Hansol says. “I won’t let you.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says weakly, even if he isn’t sure there’s anything Hansol can actually do. The sentiment is nice, at least. 

“Can you try to sleep?” Hansol asks. Seungkwan sits up just enough to level him with a stare so dead-eyed that Hansol laughs immediately, putting his hands up in defeat. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. 

Seungkwan lets himself get lulled into a stupor for the rest of the trip, his panic reaching its peak, rendering him unable to do much more than rest his cheek listlessly back on Hansol’s shoulder. He watches Hansol play phone games for almost an hour straight and doesn’t register any of it, just a blur of colours on the screen.

Hansol guides him off the train when they arrive, even checks his phone for him to make sure Seulhae messaged him back. 

Seungkwan, meanwhile, is busy conconcting vivid scenarios: Seulhae changing her mind, Seulhae leaving him at the train station, Seulhae luring him here under false pretenses so she can tell him how much he’s disappointed her, Seulhae—

Seulhae here, at the train station. Seulhae waving at him, smiling big and bright, hair escaping from its ponytail the way it’s always done, ever since they were kids. It used to drive their mom crazy.

Seungkwan forgets everything, drops his suitcase, and runs. 

Her shampoo still smells the same when he hugs her. 

Her laugh hasn’t changed a bit.

Seungkwan cries so much in the train station that Hansol has to guide him out. He helps Seungkwan into Seulhae’s car, laughing a little the way he always does when he doesn’t know what else to do.

Seungkwan barely manages to blubber out an introduction to Seulhae’s husband, a mild-mannered man who seems perfectly happy to drive in silence and let Seulhae do all the talking. 

And Seulhae _does_ talk, a frantic edge to her voice that Seungkwan recognizes easily, even after years spent apart. She’s nervous, he can tell. She wants it to go well. 

It takes him almost the entire car ride to calm down, Hansol awkwardly answering Seulhae’s questions, fumbling his way through small talk even though he’s horrible at it. 

Seungkwan stumbles out of the car when they park and straight into Seulhae’s arms, sniffling into the crook of her neck. 

“I missed you so much,” he says wildly, feeling completely out-of-control. Seulhae laughs at him, of couse, the way she always has, but she squeezes him back just as tightly.

Later, back in the car after an impromptu trip to pick up more refreshments, Seulhae kills the engine in the parking garage but doesn’t move to get out. They left Hansol with Seulhae’s husband up in the apartment, so it’s just the two of them, everything they’ve avoided mentioning this far clouding up the air between them. 

“When I met Dokyun I was so sad,” Seulhae says, finally, not looking at Seungkwan as she says it. “I would have done it differently, if I could.”

“Done what differently?” Seungkwan says, and is surprised to find he hopes she doesn’t mean her marriage—he doesn’t think he knows how to help someone get a divorce.

Seulhae laughs, somehow knowing exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Not that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I just wish we’d done it right, that’s all. A real wedding. We don’t even have any pictures.”

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. God, it just doesn’t get any less tragic.

“I can feel your judgment, you know,” Seulhae says dryly. Seungkwan splutters out something he means to be self-defence, but she just laughs, seeing right through him the way she always has.

“It was easier for me to tell myself you’d be fine without me,” Seulhae says. “But I was just being a coward. I knew you wouldn’t be, but if I let myself think about it I never could have left.”

 _Then you shouldn’t have,_ Seungkwan would have said six months ago. But it doesn’t matter, he realizes. Maybe Seulhae shouldn’t have left, but she did. Hansol was right—they can’t change it now.

Seulhae’s here, in Daegu, with a quiet husband and a shitty Hyundai and a baby on the way. When the weekend ends Seungkwan will be in Seoul, with a quiet boyfriend and a one-bedroom apartment and two years left on his degree. 

Their father is in Jeju, working late to avoid his empty house. Seunghee is en route to Moscow, and then Saudi Arabia after that. 

They’ve all made their choices.

“I’m sorry,” Seulhae says, gaze focused on something outside the window, or maybe just the pane itself.

“It’s okay,” Seungkwan says. “I’m sorry, too.”

Seulhae shakes her head.

“I’m your older sister,” she insists. “I should have taken care of you.”

“I didn’t want to be taken care of,” Seungkwan says, which is and isn’t true. He had wanted it, he thinks, buried somewhere deep inside. But he wouldn’t have accepted it, either. In the months after their mother died he clung so tightly to maintaining a façade of control that he barely even let himself cry.

Even when Seulhae had announced her plans, that she was marrying a stranger and leaving Seunghee and Seungkwan to fend for themselves, he doesn’t think he cried. He’d chosen anger towards her instead, and hadn’t let it fade. 

“You were trying so hard,” Seulhae says. “I could see you were just faking it, but I let myself believe it was real.”

It wasn’t—by the time Seungkwan graduated, he’d isolated himself from all his friends, given up on all of his dreams, and dropped his plans to move to Seoul and spending two years working part-time jobs instead, taking as many shifts as he could to avoid spending time in an empty, hollow home. 

“I wanted you to,” he says, instead of letting Seulhae take all the blame. She was sad, too. They lost the same thing. 

“I should go save Hansol,” Seungkwan says, gesturing towards the parking garage exit. “He doesn’t actually like talking to new people.”

“Dokyun doesn’t either,” Seulhae laughs, shaking her head. “He’s so quiet.”

“I can tell,” Seungkwan says. “I was surprised.”

In high school Seulhae only dated guys who could keep up with her, loud and funny and never still for a moment. Seungkwan was shocked when she introduced them to softspoken, mild-mannered Dokyun, who even _dresses_ quietly.

“It was what I liked about him, when we met,” she muses. “He was so gentle. Everything seemed so loud, back then. He made it all quiet. I felt like I could get through it when I was with him. I needed to hold onto that feeling, you know?”

 _Enough to leave me for it?_ Seungkwan doesn’t ask. 

He left too, after all, and so did Seunghee. 

He thinks, instead, about Hansol’s deep, serious voice, and the way he’s never once flinched back from Seungkwan, even when Seungkwan is being loud and hysterical and ridiculous. The way Hansol defuses every dramatic scene with a ridiculous expression and a laugh. The way every time Seungkwan starts a sentence with _I know it’s weird, but_ , Hansol immediately responds that he isn’t. That nothing about him is weird. 

“I get it,” Seungkwan says. Seulhae smiles.

“I thought you might,” she says. She twists the key in the ignition to turn the car off, reaching for where her purse is nestled by Seungkwan’s feet. “Let’s go, then.”

“Let’s go,” Seungkwan echoes, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

In the elevator on the way up to Seulhae’s floor, she reaches over to squeeze Seungkwan’s hand. Seungkwan looks over, startled.

“I love you,” Seulhae says simply. The urge to give in to tears rises up so suddenly that Seungkwan has to steel himself against it, blinking rapidly to keep his eyes dry.

“Yah, noona,” he says, voice a dry croak. Seulhae laughs, but it sounds a little wet.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew, that’s all,” she says. Seungkwan rubs irritably at his eyes, sniffing petulantly. 

“Whatever,” he says. “I love you too, stupid.”

“I’m glad you messaged me,” he says later, sprawled out on the couch, too tired to filter the words before they spill out. “I really did miss you.”

“I missed you too,” Seulhae says immediately, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Seungkwan scowls, tries to duck away. 

“It’s different,” he says. “I’d forgotten how this feels.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being around someone who knows me,” Seungkwan admits. “I didn’t know I missed it.”

“Hansol knows you,” Seulhae points out.

“Hansol knows me _now_ ,” Seungkwan says. “Now me. Adult me. You know all of me.”

“I can tell him about all of you, if you want,” Seulhae offers. 

“Don’t you dare,” Seungkwan hisses, but it’s too late.

“Hey, Hansol-ah! Want to hear about the time Seungkwan embarrassed himself at his fifth grade talent show?”

“Sure,” Hansol laughs from the kitchen, looking up from his ramyun. “Why not?”

“Don’t,” Seungkwan whines, but he knows from a wealth of adolescent experience that it’s too late. Seulhae’s already beckoning Hansol over, smile bright on her face. 

Seungkwan pretends to be embarrassed—he _is_ embarrassed—but he can’t deny there’s something nice about it, too. Watching Hansol laugh with his sister, the people he loves most together in the same room. Happy.

_ day 380 _

“How was Daegu?” Jeonghan asks. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. 

“Honestly? Shit,” he says, and Jeonghan laughs. “It was good to see my sister, though,” Seungkwan adds, so he doesn’t sound like a total brat. “We’re gonna go back when the baby comes.”

“That’s good,” Jeonghan says, sounding weirdly sincere. Seungkwan puts his drink down to get a better look at him. He looks a little pale, now that Seungkwan is looking closer, the line of his shoulders a little frailer than Seungkwan remembered. 

“How are you?” Seungkwan asks, surprised to find that he actually wants to know. 

Jeonghan laughs again, and Seungkwan can’t tell if he’s imagining the tension.

“I’m fine,” Jeonghan says, waving a careless hand. “You know how it is.”

Seungkwan doesn’t know how it is—they don’t usually talk about anything personal unless Seungkwan’s having an emergency, which he’s starting to realize is actually incredibly shitty of him. 

“You’ll tell me if it’s not fine, though, right?” Seungkwan asks, to be safe. Jeonghan tilts his head in bemusement.

“We aren’t friends,” he reminds Seungkwan. “You’ve said so yourself.”

Seungkwan huffs out an exasperated breath.

“Yeah, but I can still _care_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Ah,” Jeonghan says delicately, and then he follows it up with a placid stare. Ugh. He really is the worst. But Seungkwan can totally be the bigger person, here. He can! 

Seungkwan takes in a deep breath, holds it a moment, and then lets it out.

“I’m only going to say this once, and then we can go back to normal, okay?” he says. 

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, looking wary.

“When I moved to Seoul I was really sad and lonely, and meeting you helped me a lot,” Seungkwan says, eyes focused on the ceiling. “And I know you probably only did it because you’re a weirdo who needs to play puppet-master, but it meant a lot to me that you always reached out to me first and listened to my feelings, even if you still made fun of me for them. It made me feel more like a real person.”

He lets out the rest of his breath in a rush after he says it, feeling strangely winded.

“Wow,” Jeonghan says after a tense moment. He actually kind of sounds… choked up? No. That can’t be right. Seungkwan pulls his gaze down to meet Jeonghan’s, and— oh, thank god. He looks totally normal. It’s probably just allergies. Pollen, or dust or something.

“Do _not_ make it into a big deal,” Seungkwan says firmly, just in case. “I just needed to get it out one time, alright? I think it was, like. Clouding up my aura, or something.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan says easily. 

“And, like, if there’s ever something that’s bothering you, you can tell me about it,” Seungkwan. “And I’ll listen, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Jeonghan echoes, sounding amused. 

“You know what I mean,” Seungkwan says, with a lot more confidence than he actually feels. Jeonghan tilts his head again, assessing. God, it never gets any less unnerving—like being watched by one of those freaky birds that like shiny things, or maybe a velociraptor from Jurassic Park.

Seungkwan suppresses a shudder, and does his best to redirect that train of thought. 

“Is everything okay with Seokmin?” he asks instead. 

Ever since Seungkwan’s fateful café breakdown, Jeonghan and Seokmin have been completely inseparable. It’s so intense that for a while Seungkwan was sure they were secretly dating—he even cornered Jeonghan to ask about it, only to be met with a blank face of utter confusion, followed by a flat denial.

Jeonghan _could_ have been faking it—Seungkwan wouldn’t put any act of deception past him—but his dismissiveness had seemed sincere, and when Seungkwan asked _Seokmin_ about it later he’d been just as nonplussed.

“ _Hyung_?” Seokmin had said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Oh, god. Could you imagine?”

It had made Seungkwan feel a lot better, actually—Seokmin was so kind, so guileless, that the thought of Jeonghan holding so much influence over him was vaguely unsettling. Like Seungkwan was watching something terrible happen without doing anything to stop it. 

But Seokmin seemed perfectly capable of making his own decisions, so Seungkwan took him at his word. Even Seokmin did laugh at Jeonghan’s horrible jokes, and smile at all of Jeonghan’s horrible pranks, and let Jeonghan hang all over him at every opportunity. Whatever. Seungkwan didn’t care. It wasn’t his business. 

(Hansol raised an eyebrow, later, when he repeated the sentiment, which. Like. _Fair_ , but still. Hansol didn’t need to call him out like that.)

Jeonghan just stares at him, now, looking just as bemused as he had the first time Seungkwan had asked.

“Sure it is,” Jeonghan says, not giving anything away. 

“Just,” Seungkwan huffs out a frustrated breath, annoyed at Jeonghan for making him have to work so hard to be kind. “You look kind of bad, okay? You can tell me if you have a problem.”

“Wow,” Jeonghan drawls.

Jeonghan taps his finger against his glass for a long moment.

“Thank you,” he says, finally. “I’ll take you up on that, if I ever need it.”

He doesn’t make it sound particularly likely, but it’s not a flat-out denial, either. Seungkwan nods, accepting. Maybe this is just the best Jeonghan can do—kind of sad, but whatever. It’s his life, not Seungkwan’s.

_ day 400 _

“Mom says we should bring Seulhae and Dokyun to visit once the baby’s born,” Hansol says, looking up from his phone. 

Seungkwan’s head jerks up so quickly it hurts.

He stares at Hansol for a long moment, mouth gaping open. Inkigayo blares on the TV screen, completely forgotten. 

“What?” he asks, finally, voice cracking uselessly. 

“She says she wants to meet them,” Hansol says. “They’re family, so…” he trails off at Seungkwan’s expression, looking a little lost. Seungkwan still can’t make himself say anything. “Is that okay?” Hansol asks, sounding a little unsure.

 _Of course it’s okay_ , Seungkwan wants to say, but all that comes out is a gasping croak. 

Seungkwan crawls across the couch into Hansol’s lap, burying his face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. He smells the way he always does—a little sweaty at the end of the day, mixed in with the last clinging remnants of soap from his morning shower. He still won’t switch to body wash, no matter how hard Seungkwan tries to convince him.

“I love you so much,” Seungkwan says right into Hansol’s skin, eyes closed tight. Hansol’s arms wrap around his waist and squeeze.

“You too,” Hansol says quietly. 

“Tell your mom of course we’ll come,” Seungkwan says, finally, pulling back and wiping at his eyes, managing a tremulous smile. “No, wait. I’ll tell her myself.”

He stays curled into Hansol’s side as he taps out a message, fingers trembling, screen angled so Hansol can see.

_Hansol-eomma! Hansol told me about your invitation~ Of course Noona will be happy to come visit! I will ask her now~_  
_We’re so grateful for your kindness♡_

Her response comes only moments later, not even giving Seungkwan time to breathe before the words show up on his screen. 

_Seungkwan-ah~ You know it’s just eomma!_  
_I can’t wait to meet your beautiful sister!_  
_I love you!_

Seungkwan stares at the screen for a long time, Hansol warm and solid next to him as the tears pool and then fall.

**Author's Note:**

> biggest thank you to [heejinah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heejinah/pseuds/heejinah) i love you ♡♡♡


End file.
